Magic and Science
by MrsRJLupin
Summary: 2COMPLETE. Cecilia Frobisher continues her adventures in the wizard world with the Science and Magic Sequel. Opinions are valued, thanks for R&Ring! 22.1.12 The final sequel is under way: The Art of the Wize - I'd love to know what you think! Please R&R!
1. Conjugally Domesticified

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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Two months of wonderful togetherness.

Eight weeks, six days of blissful relations.

Sixty two days of passionate domesticity.

One thousand four hundred and eighty eight hours of unspoiled happiness.

Eighty nine thousand two hundred and eighty minutes of idyllic paradise.

Five million, three hundred and fifty six thousand eight hundred seconds of Cecilia Jane Frobisher and Remus John Lupin. Together.

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The two months that had passed since Cecilia Frobisher had thrown caution to the wind and attempted to bring down the most powerful wizard of all time before leaving with Remus for his family's derelict house five miles away from the nearest village (almost a dozen miles from a shop) in the middle of Cumbria had been notable for their eventlessness.

That suited Cecilia just fine. Too many of the months since the fifteenth of July the previous year had been crammed full of events: surprising, astonishing, dangerous, terrifying events.

Events which had seen her come to terms with the wizard world in order to negotiate her way through a problem. Events that had led to depression and misery. Events that had caused her to lose her faith in the very science she practiced. Events that had led to the eventual deaths of her friends. Many, many events.

Staring out of the window of the kitchen's utility room, Cecilia looked across at the solution that was bubbling away underneath a reflux condenser, before casting her gaze back at the late April picturesqueness of the Cumbrian mountains with Helvellyn shimmering in the distance.

In the last two months the most exciting things Cecilia had done had been to walk the ten miles to Ambleside and mingle amongst the Easter tourists (never again) in order to buy some groceries, a radio from a second hand shop in the town and their whole stock of batteries; personal items (which she felt too embarrassed to ask Remus to get for her) and two cotton-backed notebooks.

Other exciting events included a walk towards Skiddaw to collect nettles so as to extract oxalic acid from their leaves, worrying where the cottage actually was when she returned from said walk (the cottage appeared derelict to muggles and was also unplottable) and wait up on the nights when the moon was full in order to be the first person Remus would see when he had got over his episode as a werewolf.

Behind her, the burgundy liquid bubbled and popped, so she reduced the heat of the portable gas cooker and flicked the switch on the Panasonic radio, circa 1984, tuning its multi-coloured dials into one of the local radio stations. Then she looked out of the window again, watching a couple navigate their way across a stile and up towards a higher ridge of a right of way, clearly tourists on a day out, by the look of their brand new equipment and walking boots.

It had been strangely odd how the place was; clearly Remus's parents had been wizards, the general wizardly things were in the house, but the house was very much a product of the muggle 1960s…the cottage two bedroomed with a good deal of brown teak panelling that the kitchen might have been mistaken for a café and the furniture in the bedrooms and living room looked as if it had originated from a Rané catalogue.

"…the temperature today will be in the early twenties, with slight breezes crossing the Irish Sea…"

The mixture that was bubbling was actually the twenty ninth she had been working on since her arrival at the cottage. Cecilia had made it clear to Remus that she would feel affronted if she must give up the research, unfinished as the potion that Harry should have taken two months ago was. She had already ceded her position as an honorary member of the Order.

In fact, she had told her fiancé, she would consider it an insult if she was asked to stop either by him, Snape or Dumbledore, all of whom (she was led to understand from an anonymous letter sent by a Snowy owl in very familiar handwriting) had been making suggestions to that effect.

"…but soon, you are going to be my wife," Remus had protested on several occasions. "You have no need to work, Cecilia…"

"Yes, I agree your point, Remus, and I've been thinking…how is it that wizards marry? Either to each other or to muggles? I mean, what's the proper format?"

That had been Cecilia's question last night when he'd mentioned the subject of her working on the potion. She knew exactly why he didn't want her continuing too: not only were the owls to Hogwarts slightly on the suspicious side, but also, Cecilia knew, Remus disliked her correspondence with Snape, even though it was for professional reasons.

This last diversion from the subject of her working had resulted in Remus describing the process of the legality of marriage; the ceremony had to be presided over by a member of the Wizengamot (for a wizard-muggle marriage) or a Wizengamot member or local magistrate if the marriage was between two wizards.

Then the marriage had to be written into the ministry records after the certificate had been signed by the member or magistrate. Anything else that was required, he'd explained carefully, was up to the bride and groom.

"…caller on line four…yes, hello…you've experienced this type of call, Mrs Jenkinson…"

Cecilia had nodded deliberately, before cuddling close to Remus. That wouldn't be for a while then, she thought, nestling her head in his lap as they watched the spring sun set over the mountains. The Ministry were the very wizards from whom she wished to keep the lowest profile at the moment for, while they wished to seemingly congratulate her for her attempts against Voldermort, it was also clear that they were interested in her work with Snape and, in particular, Harry's potion.

Not that any of the attempts on the new potion had so far had yielded successful results however but Cecilia had bottled small vials of the solutions up and sent them with letters to her wizardly colleague anyway which she had agreed with Remus would be far safer for him to deliver than if she sent them by owl.

She had not been in need of contact with the wizards she knew; over the last couple of months she had received several, not counting owls with distinctive blue bands on their legs whose contents of those letters, if opened she had been warned (by Mr Weasley), would reveal to the Ministry her location.

Mrs Weasley had written to her about the children, telling her that they were all settled back in at school now and, with the exception of Mr Weasley being admitted to St. Mungo's for a bite injury, they were all fine.

In addition, she had received regular, if brief letters from Tonks; a heavily battered and multi-postmarked letter littered with spelling mistakes from Nick; instructions and information from Snape and even a letter from Dumbledore wishing her well and informing her that her wages would be paid until the end of the school year.

So all in all Cecilia felt settled, living in conjugal domesticity with the man, the wizard, she loved. Especially compared to the upheaval of the last few months. It felt like a perfect arrangement, working on blends for Snape in a beautiful, if isolated, location and living a peaceful life at last.

"…but the point, Jim has to be said…if people in this country were committed to voting for the party where they think their taxes would be best spent…"

Remus himself had spent the time in the day when he was not recovering from his time of the month away from the cottage. Cecilia did not ask him exactly where he went and what he was doing however he had told her that the work he had agreed to carry out for Dumbledore, consisted of three tasks, including shift work on behalf of the Order.

However his time away was not excessive; indeed they had spent much of the first fortnight at the cottage together, talking and sharing, spending a lot of time in each other's company as nature intended. Perfectly contented.

"…and that's it for Jim Fox on Radio Westmorland this morning, don't forget you can catch my show again tomorrow where I'll be speaking to Norma Major on why the Conservative Party can't lose on May 1st…"

Cecilia reached over and flicked the power lever on the top of the scarlet stereo before turning up the burner so that the heat licked the outside of the Quikfit round-bottomed flask and almost immediately the remaining volatile organic compounds responded to the increase in thermal energy.

Five more minutes and she would be able to see whether the new potion she was working on would be complementary to the base and match of Harry's potion that had been developed by her and Snape up until that fateful night where Voldermort had decided to launch his ill-fated rebirth.

Perfectly contented, Cecilia reminded herself as she stepped back and looked at the solution bubble up inside the flask before quickly leaning forward and swirling the neck of the flask vigorously to ensure even refluxing.

Perfectly contented?

There were some pieces of news that had struck her heart deeply when Remus (and indeed Sirius, but she had not been in a fit state to comprehend them) informed her gently of them when they arrived at the cottage.

Her house in Edgeford had been destroyed when her friend Libby and her husband Derek and been murdered at the end of January. In addition the house of her mother had been burned to the ground on the night Fenrir Greyback had attempted to retrieve "Mysterious Mythology" from Freya who, following the death of her parents, was living with Cecilia's mother and who now, with her sister were currently residing somewhere in Scotland with modified memories.

Cecilia switched off the heat from underneath the flask before pulling out a piece of parchment, a vial and parchment label and a quill and ink and as she waited for the solution to cool, Cecilia outlined the method and results on the parchment, leaving a gap below so she could enter the microscope results.

She had asked Remus early on in their domestic arrangements whether they would be able to go to visit her mother and had regretted it almost immediately. He had explained frustratingly slowly and carefully that they were being watched over by Aurors from the Order for their own safety and that should Cecilia visit, she would risk putting them in danger. And as the weeks had progressed she had thought twice about asking him again, choosing to wish to see them rather than say it aloud.

One thing that had made her happy had been the news about Tonks and Nick. By scanty accounts she had been given whilst recovering at Hogwarts and afterwards they had got together just before Christmas and had been dating ever since. They had moved to St. Bees which was just up the coast from Nick's new job at "The New Calder Hall Power Station".

Not only had it made her happy that two of her friends were so happy together, she thought as she brushed the end of the quill feather idly against her cheek, it had given her ideas about using the laboratories for her own ends again, something she knew Nick would consent to once they got in touch properly.

And it had lessened the guilt she was feeling too, about Cecilia's and Remus's departure at Christmas from the Order Yule Ball when it had been widely believed, even by Remus himself that he would propose to and marry Tonks.

"You are beautiful," said Cecilia to potion 29, as she reached forward and touched the glassware. It was now cool enough to pour, so she detached the condenser and placed it down carefully on the wooden bench, wondering where she had seen a solution that gave a green pallor in the light before.

And that was another thing that had upset Cecilia: her house, indiscriminately destroyed by Death Eaters, had contained many reference books and other personal belongings that were irreplaceable; belongings which now were gone forever and she wished now she had not left her books behind at Hogwarts.

Her darling Remus had taken the trouble to return to the site and retrieve what he could and on her first night in their new home had given her a small box containing some things that had survived, including a very battered photograph album, a small china ornament and her jewellery box.

In addition he had taken to bringing her things home that other wizards had given to him for her which they appeared to believe she may need for her life in their world. Some of the items, such as the sneakoscope and doxy detector were indeed useful though she didn't know when or even whether she would use Knight cream. Nevertheless, Cecilia kept each item reverentially in the bottom of her side of the chest of drawers, the knowledge of their presence comforting.

So, on the whole Cecilia could describe her life as Blissful. Remus had provided all he could for her, doing any magical jobs around the house that Cecilia needed him to. These days she left more for him to do; at first she had insisted on doing it all herself which had resulted in her fiancé almost dying from hysterical laughter when he had returned home one day to find her knee-deep in muddy spring water in the living room.

But their relationship was not without a few difficulties. Remus was extremely sensitive about their financial situation and he was offended at first when Cecilia offered him her money. It made perfect sense to her; they were to be married. But despite having nothing of value to his name (his one steady job being at Hogwarts as Professor) and in desperation she had written secretly to Dumbledore insisting he give Remus her wages that were being paid until the end of the summer.

A rattle at the kitchen window broke Cecilia off from her daydream and she looked in the direction of the tawny owl that was tapping insistently on the glass.

"Sorry," Cecilia called softly to the bird as she made her way slowly towards it, and pointing to its leg that was adorned with a royal blue band. "I'd love to take it from you, but they'll find me if I do. Here," she added, grabbing a handful of crusts that were left over from the bread-and-butter pudding that was baking in the oven and opened the window just enough to stick her hand through.

The owl stared at her for a while, as if that would persuade her to change her mind as Cecilia sat on a kitchen chair and picked up an out-of-date copy of the Daily Prophet, before hopping across the windowsill and gobbled down a small crust before attacking another.

Okay, not perfectly contented. Her life with Remus wasn't perfect _here_. But it was here, with him. And it was perfect with him. She would put up with a lot worse to be with him; that was certain because she loved him so much and would have gone with him anywhere…

…and there was another thing…something that had been dwelling on Cecilia's mind since they had got there…something that was worrying her…something she could not talk to Remus about, even though it concerned him completely…

Watching the still-burdened owl leave the kitchen windowsill and fly off into the distance Cecilia pushed the concern to the back of her mind and got to her feet, entering the utility room again and analysing her experiment.

Just as she penned a few more words about lavender oil that was reducing in the flask before her a "crack" of a wizard apparating into the cottage's living room broke her concentration. That would be Remus, she anticipated, and pushed the parchment and quill into one of the drawers in the kitchen workroom.

"Hello, love," she called loudly, pushing aside the curtain that divided the kitchen and workroom before walking quickly across the terracotta floor tiles. "How's your day been?"

"Thank you for asking," came the stiff, gravelly voice. Cecilia pushed open the door of the living room quickly as she recognised the voice, "however I believe Lupin may take exception at your addressing me in such a…sentimental manner."

Cecilia felt her face break into an astonished smile as she looked at the tall form of Severus Snape who was standing in the living room, looking appraisingly at the ornaments that decorated the windowsills, clearly not impressed with what he saw.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, and he turned to look at her, his face unmovable and expression fixed. Having not seen anyone else apart from Remus for the last two months, Cecilia had to quell her impulsive urge to throw her arms around Snape's neck in delight.

"I came about this," he said, holding a parchment decorated with her untidy handwriting. "And for another reason about which I must have your full attention. And to return these." He gestured towards a pile of books tied up with string that was on the coffee table and looked remarkably like her science books. "I thought you'd need them by now. I took the liberty of copying the relevant information therein. Now this," he repeated, sitting himself without invitation on one of the green-and-brown candlewick covered settees in the living room.

"…er yes?" said Cecilia, her heart beating with anticipation. It was this potion she cared the most about; she had wondered whether she had the skills to make it, or whether she needed to rely on Severus.

"Many of the ingredients are licensed," he continued, looking between her letter and her fiercely hopeful expression. "That is to say, their quantities are strictly controlled by those that matter within the ministry. I have a limited supply at Hogwarts which I may keep for educational purposes however it will be dangerous for me to allow you to take possession of them."

"But _you_ could make it!" insisted Cecilia, "you've done it before."

"Indeed," replied Snape, "however have you forgotten that one of the main ingredients in the wolfsbane potion is the very herb that gives it its name; the very ingredient that is vital in the match of Harry's new potion?"

Cecilia shook her head. She hadn't forgotten this. She knew that it was a rare herb and that she wouldn't be able to wander the hills and mountains round the cottage and happen upon a crop.

"What's the other thing?" she continued, deliberately choosing to sidestep the last conversation. Snape got to his feet, picking up a pewter ornament in the shape of a hare from the net curtained windowsill.

"The potion is developing," commented Snape, scrutinising the hare before replacing it and picking up the brass donkey next to it. "The work you have been carrying out here has owed the match to progress. It is within ten percent of what we require for both energy level and frequency." He turned and looked down at Cecilia's beaming face.

"And with the Unforgivable spell." He handed Cecilia the donkey tentatively before folding his arms. Cecilia said nothing, but looked between the donkey and Snape.

"What I am trying to say, _colleague,_ is that we are the closest we have ever been to finding the magical spell that will defeat the Dark Lord. This process would be accelerated infinitely were you to decide to return now to Hogwarts." He glanced around the cottage, a look of distain on his face.

Cecilia opened her mouth to say something, before looking down at the floor, at the donkey and out of the window.

"Hogwarts?!" she said, confused.

"You are not happy here," Snape continued, watching as she replaced the ornament on the windowsill. "Not you, with your exponential mind, working and operating on the problem. Not so remote from teaching."

Cecilia swallowed. How well Snape knew her. That was indeed what a part of her felt. A part of her that knew that however great it was here in one of the remotest parts of England, it couldn't be forever.

"Are you here to offer me my job back, at Hogwarts?"

"Only the Headmaster can make appointments," said Snape darkly.

"Good," said Cecilia, getting to her feet. "Because I would only be interested in the Defence against the Dark Arts job anyway." She took a few steps towards the fireplace and gazed into the flames that warmed the hearth gently, and did not see Snape whip round towards her.

"In that case you've not heard then that Remus and I are engaged?" Cecilia watched the flames dance a little brighter as a breeze passed over the chimney stacks far above.

"On the contrary," replied Snape, looking at the brown-swirly patterned carpet. "The Headmaster informed me of your happy news."

"Then I am sure you understand that I would wish to discuss this with him."

"Naturally…"

"And at present, the last time I discussed it with the Headmaster, he agreed that here, this cottage, was the safest place for me to be. At least until the new school year." Cecilia turned and looked at Snape again quickly before looking at the floor, feeling the heat of denial burning at her cheeks.

For a few moments Snape said nothing. Then he folded his arms and turned towards the window.

"The second reason that I came here Cecilia was regarding your health. The background magical levels even with the unplottable binding are far lower than when you were at your most exposed at the school. However the rate at which we are producing the potion your presence may be detected due to the correspondence. From that point of view I would estimate that your duration at Hogwarts this term would be far shorter than before and our magical potion would be perfected through our collaboration."

You can't be serious, thought Cecilia grimly. Safer at Hogwarts when the last time I was nearly killed by students, both Slytherin and Gryffindor? I witnessed murders of Death Eaters by other Death Eaters! I witnessed your torture…

She turned.

"I do apologise Severus, I haven't offered you anything to drink. Would you like some tea?" She gestured in the direction of the kitchen. Snape ignored her.

"There is a third. I do not wish this to influence you unduly. However the solving of it may also be the key, especially to the plan that is being built by the Death Eaters."

"A bite to eat?" Cecilia insisted, taking a few steps towards the kitchen. "I was just bottling up potion number 29 for you, with the method, so you can take it now if you wish, though I've not done the microscopic analysis yet."

She glanced behind her as she placed her hand on the handle. Snape had not moved.

"How have you been, Severus?" she asked, looking towards his left arm.

"I have been Called," he replied slowly, "on many occasions. However the Mark remains painless. I do not have to come when I am bidden." He stopped and there was a vacuum of an unspoken struggle between them. Eventually, Cecilia opened the door.

"Come through," she beckoned, and you can tell me about the third reason you came to see me."

In the washroom, Snape held up the vial containing the burgundy solution to the early afternoon sunlight that was bouncing off the mountains in the distance, nodding his head slowly.

"I will get onto this forthwith," he said, slipping the vial inside his black robe before scanning down the parchment that Cecilia had put next to the vial. "You've listed the ingredients in detail." Looking further down, his eyes narrowed slightly as he read the words at the bottom.

"You needn't take that one," Cecilia said quickly, "the ink's smudged. Here, let me write out it again." She watched as Snape replaced the parchment and she tore it up, before writing the method and ingredients down on another piece from memory.

"So, the final reason, Severus," she prompted, handing him the parchment. "Why else are you here?"

A moment passed between the two of them, one of intimate instinctive knowledge of each other. Cecilia knew that her presence at Hogwarts, although important, wasn't the only reason that he was here. Snape too, knew that Cecilia knew this intuitively and, without saying anything handed her two of the traces that she had produced from her old place of work in the muggle world seven months before.

"I documented this, and pointed it out to you," replied Cecilia after she had held up the traces to the afternoon light. "However I am very impressed that you found it, Severus," she added, handing it back to him.

"Your acquisition of the relevant sample from Malfoy I will not query," he continued, glancing at Cecilia darkly, "however your conclusion is…?"

"…we have a continuum," Cecilia nodded, pointing towards the protein bands. "It is not Mendelian. It's probably Gaussian." She picked up her fineliner and a piece of paper from behind the slowly simmering lavender and drew the sketch of the bell-shaped curve. "Are you familiar?" Snape nodded.

"A continuum," he confirmed. "Time?" he asked. Cecilia nodded, thinking about how close to this she must have been when she had been developing the Universal Link theory of wave-particle duality.

"Then there will be all sorts of implications for this type of information. I would be happier if we could confirm this." He took hold of the papers and rolled them up, placing them inside his robe.

"You can," she replied, glancing out of the window and placing a hand unconsciously on her stomach before turning to look at her former colleague and friend. "Nick's going out with Tonks and he's working over at Calder Hall…Sellafield," she corrected herself. "They've the facility there, and he'd do it if Tonks asked."

Cecilia's mind drifted to the conversation that had taken place between the two of them when they had visited a few nights ago, and how happy they both looked in each others' company. So much so that Cecilia had forgotten to feel uncomfortable about the situation. Nick had promised Tonks anything and Cecilia had added that "free access to the biotechnology department would be an advantage," to which, after receiving a confirmatory nod from Tonks, had agreed to wholeheartedly.

"Then I'll contact her," Snape concluded, continuing to stare into her eyes and Cecilia held his gaze again.

"You did not ask me about the wolfsbane…" he added, looking down. Severus handed her his wand as he extracted a vial of potion which he handed to her. Cecilia felt her heart melt. After all he had said…he'd still made it for Remus. How wonderful…

Cecilia felt her hand drift to her stomach again and as her words of gratitude entered her mouth so did the hitherto buried worries in verbal form. She was about to say something when Snape put a finger to her lips like he used to do when they were working together and he was finally tired of her talking.

"You are concerned about children," he said, a small flicker of a smile playing on his lips.

"…children..." murmured Cecilia absently, the word filling a gap in her worries.

"Naturally. You consider everything." Cecilia gave Snape her attention as he looked her up and down before nodding in agreement.

"Let me give it to you logically. If what we have said is true, especially if your hypothesis about a Gaussian continuum is correct, your best course of action would be to avoid the situation altogether. It would depend on the allele of course, upon which chromosomes it resides. And if there are any co-ordinating genes which there would be if your hypothesis is correct, that influence _when_ a person's wizardly traits appear it would follow that this might hold true for your offspring."

Snape stopped and Cecilia considered what he had said. It _was_ logical, she concluded, nodding in agreement. If the muggle-wizard genetics were more complicated than just you were a muggle or a wizard then…what were the risks if she were to become pregnant…?

Cecilia realised that Snape had taken back his wand and was waving it over her stomach and she looked at him, feeling indignation rising in her throat. Then she smiled as he took a step back, the indignation replaced with gratitude. Snape looked at her firmly.

"You are not," he confirmed folding his arms. "And of course the matter is entirely between yourself and Lupin however it might be wise to owl Boutes in Diagonalley. I understand they sell potions for that type of thing…"

"Thank you," interrupted Cecilia quickly, trying to get Snape off the subject of wizardly contraception, and she racked her brain to think of a more suitable topic.

"…were you to ask…" he broke off as he noticed that Cecilia had begun to take a keen interest in the lavender distillation.

"If that is all…" Cecilia looked at Severus Snape, who was also looking at the liquid and smiled kindly at him.

"Would you like me to wait with you until Lupin returns?" he added, staring still further at the reduction as bubbles formed on the surface. Cecilia shook her head.

"Thank you. Severus…" she added as he strode through the utility room door and into the kitchen and he turned.

"…thank you all the same." Cecilia followed him out into the kitchen. "I must admit at these times of the month…it's a little unnerving when I see him in his other form – " she opened her palm and exposed the vial of wolfsbane potion that Snape had given to her, " – but I will be sure to let him know you brought this."

She smiled again and noticed that a look of uncertainty passed over his face.

"As you wish," he replied, returning the smile. But Cecilia wasn't convinced: she had seen that look before. What is the matter, she wanted to ask.

"And you are sure I cannot persuade you to accompany me back to Hogwarts? Dumbledore I believe has made a certain error in making muggle studies an examinable subject then for he will need to find someone else to teach." Snape exhaled, folding his arms again.

"And the Ministry are showing a deal of interest in our work," he added coldly. There, thought Cecilia, smiling again. I knew there was something.

"Before you go," she said quickly, as Snape held his wand aloft to disapparate. "Could you deliver something for me?"

"Of course."

Cecilia walked past Snape and opened the living room door. Leaning round it she bent towards a small pile of papers that were cluttering up a small coffee table and rifled through it before pulling out a small piece of parchment tied with string. She turned and handed it to Snape.

"If you could give this to Hermione…she is attempting to learn science by owl…and doing rather well," Cecilia added as Snape creased his brow silently and she recalled with a smile the letter she had received a month after leaving Hogwarts that two owls had to carry between them.

"Anything else?" Snape asked, looking Cecilia up and down. But soon-to-be Mrs Lupin said nothing as she hugged him tightly. It had been so good to see her old friend again.

"Hm," muttered Snape as he tapped her back absently and when Cecilia broke off he took a few steps away from her.

"Good to see you, Cecilia," he said casting her a long look before holding his wand aloft.

And with a loud "crack" Severus Snape disapparated leaving Cecilia alone staring in his wake.

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	2. Aftermath

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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From her desk in the corner of a large office deep underground Tabitha Penwright picked up the latest report that had been owled to her from Hogwarts, which had arrived on her desk precisely three minutes ago.

She knew that because a small imp from the post team had jumped briskly onto her desk and placed it there, stabbed a bony finger in the direction of the clock on the wall behind her before standing on the blank space at the bottom of her page and tapped its feet in an impatient manner.

Carefully, Tabitha lifted the little imp up by the back of its neat blue tunic and placed him on a pile of books before fumbling in her desk drawer, past her wand, a pile of parchments and quills to a tiny date stamp which was used for received mail in the Ministry of Magic.

"Here we are," she said to the imp, holding the date stamp carefully by the end and she waited until he opened the page where Tabitha needed to use it. All at once, the soft-sponge end leapt from its casing and planted the date and time automatically on the page, like a Jack-in-the-Box, before recoiling back.

"There," Tabitha said to the imp, as the creature zoomed away in a streak of royal blue, his huge sack of mail over his shoulder. "That didn't take a moment, did it?"

Glancing at the clock again, which told her that it was two o'clock in the afternoon (a small sunshine orbited the clock to tell her that it would possibly be it, not the moon she would see if she were to step outside) Tabitha looked at the letter, which bore the Hogwarts school crest as a seal before finishing off her previous report.

More information to be catalogued, she speculated as she wrote the final few sentences. More sightings, attacks, dates and times. More muggles' minds befuddled by the Headmaster's secret organisation and others recruited. Or so the rumours held that had been spread to every corner of the Ministry of Magic since Voldermort's failed attempt to return to power two months ago.

Not that Tabitha Penwright paid much attention to rumours and gossip; here in the office which she shared with three other wizards; the work took up much of their time so it was time wasted that was spent on too much speculation of the outside world. Because of the very nature of their work they tended to be rather introverted, reflective wizards, traits which were at odds with the work they were now being asked to do.

Since Voldermort's attack every department was required to spend at least half of their allotted wizard-hours on the Voldermort threat, detailing logging and compiling sightings and other related events in order for the Minister to gain the "Bigger Picture". This was beginning to bother Tabitha; the work on her next assignment had barely begun and already she was having to leave it to concentrate on this.

Some people would have described Tabitha Penwright as mousy. Were she a muggle she would almost certainly be described by people, unkind and facile people who have to categorise things into groups before they can understand them as an "old maid" and "on the shelf".

Beige would be a kinder and more accurate adjective; even her robes were beige-brown, which matched her straight bob-cut hair and pallid skin and she gave people the impression of being very forgettable indeed.

Looking at the Hogwarts letter again she carefully popped the seal and began to read the contents, her heart sinking. Yet more information regarding sightings of Voldermort and Dumbledore's secret group's reaction to it. More wizards investigating, reporting, interviewing. More muggles being attacked or present when Dumbledore's wizards got there. More muggles being involved with wizard life. More paperwork to file. More cross-referencing to do.

Retrieving her wand from her desk drawer Tabitha got up from her chair and made her way across to a huge bank of filing cabinets that had recently been upgraded to accommodate this other Ministry work by her manager, Dolores Umbridge and had meant that all their specialised work had been archived to make way for it.

Tapping the first cabinet she said, "Leeds, 29th April, Fielding," and at once the second drawer down leapt open and from a third of the way in sprung a brown folder that made its way to Tabitha's outstretched hand. She rifled through it to find a reference she knew she was inside before reaching out with her wand arm and tapping the same cabinet again, declaring, "Hammersmith, 30th April, Donohue" and returning with both files to her desk, illuminated by large candles.

At least she would be able to continue quite late that evening and, with any luck, if no more bothersome letters were owled to her that day Tabitha could continue with relish her work in the department below.

To be honest, Tabitha Penwright worked later than she needed to in her department deep within the Ministry of Magic. The room was dark even in daylight and only the clock on the wall, which chimed tinnily to inform the wizards of the time, indicated whether it was night or day by the orbiting celestial body.

Not that the dark bothered Tabitha as she opened up both files and extracted a quill with which she enchanted the time and date on both cover parchments detailing the new information; her collection of carnivorous plants, although highly affectionate, were her only company and so as a result she spent rather longer than she needed at work.

As Tabitha finished compiling the last piece of information the office door opened and a person filled it, standing the very width of the doorframe and she watched as her boss walked heaving towards her desk, scrutinising the files that she had on her desk before nodding her large head slowly.

"Tabitha; I am so _glad _that after our conversation the other day that you took my advice seriously." Her voice trilled around the large open space of the office and Tabitha nodded quickly at Dolores Umbridge as the large witch looked between her and the files. "The reports are still coming in and this department really does need to make a good impression on Cornelius – that is to say Minister Fudge after the last time…"

Tabitha swallowed as Dolores Umbridge looked at her from her now-sitting position on the edge of her desk and looked over her spectacles at her disapprovingly.

"I do hope that you have chosen to also refrain from your…object…downstairs until after all this has been cleared up." Tabitha nodded earnestly. Dolores Umbridge terrified her and she had vowed to herself after she had requested more time to complete her investigation of the ancient artefact that was under lock and key on the floor just below them, that she would never request anything from the witch.

"Well," she continued, picking up the Hogwarts letter, "he's really done it this time. He's really gone a step too far." To Tabitha there sounded like glee in her voice and Umbridge looked directly at her before continuing.

"Albus Dumbledore," she concluded, tapping her large nose with a podgy finger. "Minister Fudge will have no choice, nor with the Wizengamot."

"No, Dolores," replied Tabitha, completely in the dark about what she was talking about.

"He's really done it this time," she added as if this made it clearer.

"Yes, Dolores," Tabitha nodded, enthusiastically.

"…and this, would you believe! I mean we all know You-Know-Who is dangerous but if Dumbledore had a secret society and he employed a muggle…or more, for we all know…without our knowledge then he will have to go, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Dolores. Quite right."

"So when I get to Hogwarts to sort out this whole mess, calm down the staff and begin to implement proper teaching to the place, then we'll see the whole picture and where the rotten wood has been all these years!"

The enthusiasm in the witch's voice was undisguised and Tabitha smiled weakly. Ever since the true nature of the events that had happened at Hogwarts she had been inundated daily with Dolores Umbridge's opinions to which she listened to in agreement.

"And I see you've read my memo. And the curriculum," she added, picking up the fat bundle of parchment at the bottom of Tabitha's in-tray which she had been desperately trying to ignore.

"Super," Umbridge added as Tabitha nodded, "so you'll be all ready then to leave all of these," she gestured to Tabitha's latest letter, "and stride forth into the countryside and classroom. And with your background you'll be ideal to continue with muggle studies teaching; don't get me wrong Tabitha, I know I opposed your entry to the department because of you being muggle-born. But look how far-sighted I was in the end."

Dolores Umbridge grinned as if her decision twelve years ago after her rejection of Tabitha purely on the basis of her parentage, was manufactured to an advantage. Tabitha smiled weakly.

"And what a fool Albus was to make muggle studies an examinable subject as well as take on a muggle. So short-sighted of him," she continued humourlessly as she got to her feet and Tabitha nodded in agreement.

Once her boss had closed the door behind her, after talking Tabitha Penwright into becoming Hogwarts' next Muggle Studies teacher, Tabitha retrieved her wand that she had stowed absently from her loose bun and she re-filed the You-Know-Who investigation evidence.

Taking one more longing look in the direction of the door that led down to the floor below, and her beloved investigation she pulled a letter out of her bottom drawer that she intended to owl on her way home before extinguishing the light.

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Remus returned back to the cottage late that evening. The evening had begun to grow dusky with the crisp dark sky underlined with a deep pink strip betraying the last of the sunlight to the endarkening world.

He had probably been to Grimmauld Place, Cecilia thought as a familiar "crack" signalled his arrival and when she went to greet him he had responded twitchily and uneasily which Cecilia had begun to recognise as familiar warning signs that this would be his first night in his other form. And then she would retire, she thought and wait till he returned home the next morning.

It wasn't as if Cecilia hadn't seen his lupine transformation before; at Hogwarts of course when she had been masquerading as Snape and the first time it had happened here. Remus had begged her not to ask him to witness it for, he explained, he could not guarantee her safety.

"Evening love," Cecilia greeted him, pushing her way through the kitchen door and smiling tenderly at him before planting a soft kiss on his lips. "How are you? I've made some tea," she added, throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him again.

"Oh," Remus replied distractedly, "Thank you. I could have done that, you know." Lethargically he made his way to the two-seater settee and sat on the left-hand side, sinking down into the cushions before looking back at Cecilia and smiling.

"How was your day?" he asked, stretching out his arm and holding it towards Cecilia. She smiled, and the hesitant feeling in her stomach began to dissolve as she climbed onto the settee next to him.

"Fine," she replied, reaching behind him and switching on the large wooden standard lamp behind him which illuminated the small room, "and you?" Cecilia asked, looking it at his worn features.

"Fine," Remus nodded, "_fine_," he repeated when Cecilia frowned in disbelief. "It's always like this, at this time of the month. Got to get tonight over with; it's always the worst."

"How I wish I could come with you," Cecilia replied as he curled his arm round her shoulders, pulling her closer and she took his hand in kind and began to stroke the back of it. "I wish I could be there with you."

"Yes, I wish that. But you would not like what I become, my darling. You've witnessed that before and I promised myself I wouldn't let you see me like that again." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

Cecilia smiled. This was their usual evening routine; Remus would apparate back for whatever he had been doing, his return made known to her by heart-stopping bang with which this method of wizardly transportation came; they would have some time together talking about what had happened that day before going about their evening.

"I've already seen what you become, and I would not care, it would still be you…" she replied, stroking his arm tenderly,

"…and I would wish to still have you the morning after," Remus insisted, kissing her head again. "At present I cannot keep my mind so I must leave very soon in order to isolate myself from others." He sighed. Cecilia said nothing, but felt her heart quicken. That which Remus had planned for himself that evening was, after she had revealed her secret, to be very different.

"So, what did my favourite scientist do today? Don't tell me – " Remus paused dramatically, making Cecilia anticipate the humour she knew was coming, "you…defeated You-Know-Who single handed when he apparated into the cottage looking for you…" Cecilia shook her head, playing along. "You…found a school of muggle children and gave them a science lesson…?" She shook her head again, swinging her legs up onto the settee so her head nestled in his lap. Remus leaned over and kissed her lips.

"You,..solved the mystery of the potion…?"

Cecilia said nothing, looking back at him with bright eyes.

"You solved the potion?!" he asked, with disbelief in his voice. Cecilia shook her head slightly.

"I finished number 29," she replied, smiling happily. "It's a vital step towards it."

"Then we should celebrate," replied Remus, his voice warm and rich, despite his obvious impending ailment. "Come on; how about some of this tea, then?" He put a hand under Cecilia, pushing her up from the small of her back until she was in a sitting position and got to his feet and made his way into the kitchen.

"Smells lovely," he commented, sitting at the small wooden table as he watched Cecilia spoon out what looked like stew into two large bowls. "What is it?"

"Irish stew," Cecilia smiled, concentrating on filling the bowls up with the ladle she had bought on her shopping trip to Ambleside. "I hope you like it. We're out of bread, though and bread goes so well with stew."

As she made hew way over the tiled kitchen floor, Cecilia tried not to let her gratitude show when Remus withdrew his wand and waved it over the table and she placed down the two bowls of food next to the plate piled high with thick, crusty bread.

"Lovely," she murmured as she took the seat opposite his. "I hope you'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," Remus replied, a small twinkle in his eye and Cecilia smiled, remembering the near-disasters she had made for them, notably cremated cottage pie and unsticky toffee pudding.

"And, how was your day?" Cecilia asked as she tucked into the moderately tasty no-one-will-have-to-go-to-hospital stew. "I hope you didn't overdo it," she chided lightly.

"Quiet," he replied, wiping some of the gravy from his moustache. "On duty. Met with Dumbledore and talked Order business. Oh," he added, putting down his spoon. "I almost forgot…"

From the inside pocket of his robe he pulled out a large money bag, and placed it on the table and the "clunk" that it made told Cecilia that it contained a fair amount of gold.

"…and you robbed Gringotts?" she prompted, smiling between the bag and him.

"Dumbledore. In exchange for the work I was doing." He opened up the bag and tipped out its contents. Before them sat several hundred gold galleons. Cecilia looked in astonishment as he did so, trying to conceal her prior knowledge of it, which was her advance wages and exhaled heavily.

"Well," she managed, putting her spoon onto the cream linen tablecloth, "that's a nice surprise. I suppose it makes a change from…well, your duty," she added lamely. It wasn't as if Cecilia didn't know what type of work Remus was doing but they'd agreed shortly after they began living in the cottage that it was best that she didn't know the details.

"And you finished No. 29," he replied, touching the back of her hand before gathering up the galleons and putting them back into the leather pouch. "That's excellent. If you leave it in the kitchen tomorrow, I'll send it on…" he trailed off as Cecilia got to her feet.

"You don't need to get it now; finish your stew," he said to Cecilia's retreating back and she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"…there's a note…"

"…well you don't have to get it now…" he replied as her back retreated into the utility washroom and he began to eat some more of the not-too-bad stew as Cecilia ignored him.

"…there's a letter for him…" Cecilia repeated as she reappeared a few moments later and she held it to show Remus before sitting back down at the table. Remus withdrew his wand again and waved it over her bowl of stew and immediately steam began to rise from within.

"Thank you," Cecilia replied, smiling at him before picking up her spoon and, as she did so she placed another vial, un-noticed, onto the table.

"I had a visitor this afternoon," she continued as Remus continued to eat.

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"Yes," Cecilia nodded, taking a spoonful of stew herself. "Severus." She watched Remus's face change from mild curiosity to intermediate hostility.

"Snape?" he frowned.

"Yes, I was astonished too," she nodded, "he took No. 29 with him." Cecilia smiled, hoping that the information would be sufficient but not too much that it would agitate Remus unduly.

"He came all the way for that…risked the security? He must be getting on with the potion then – " He stopped as he saw Cecilia glance between himself and the potion on the table.

"He brought you this," she confirmed, picking up the wolfsbane vial and handing it to him. Remus cleared his throat and took it from her, scrutinising the label that was annotated in Snape's spidery handwriting.

"Why?"

"Because I asked him to. Is there enough for the month?" Cecilia added quickly, smiling encouragingly at Remus.

"There's enough for six months!" he exclaimed, astonished. "Oh Ce…" A broad smile spread across his face and the weariness of half an hour before had given way to relief.

"…I don't know what I'd do without you, sometimes," he continued, leaning over the table and dipping a large chunk of his robe into his stew, and took her face in his hands, kissing her lips. Cecilia smiled when he sat back down (not least because she was normally the messy one) and watched him read the label.

"What else did you have to talk about?" Remus continued, his tone much lighter and warmer than it had been just now.

"Not much, really…" Cecilia felt her lightheartedness begin to wane as she recalled the rather personal conversation she and Severus Snape had engaged in and tried to make her expression as neutral as possible.

"We discussed the possibility of our having children…" she risked, watching for Remus to respond.

"I don't think I'll allow my fiancée to do that," he replied, his expression fixed as he returned Cecilia's look and he wrinkled his nose so his moustache wriggled. Cecilia didn't know whether to apologise or laugh but the conversation ended abruptly and she opened her mouth to say something when Remus smiled and continued to eat.

"Well, thankfully he came for I was sorry to have informed Dumbledore this afternoon that I could not attend the Order meeting tonight." Cecilia raised her eyebrows. The long-awaited first Order meeting. The first since Voldermort's failed attempt to announce his return to the wizard world. Cecilia felt her face flush red and her heart beat slightly quicker at the thought of seeing the Order again and she fought the longing in her stomach to ask Remus to take her with him.

"…but now…" He looked at the potion again, standing innocuously next to the condiments and took Cecilia's hand. "Thank you for doing this," he added, kissing the back of her hand. Cecilia nodded as a though crept into her mind.

"Look, if they ask about me could you tell them that much as I would like to join them, working here is good enough…being here with you – " she broke off as Remus put a finger to her lips and Cecilia blinked her widened eyes.

"I'm quite happy here with you," she finished, kissing the top of his index finger as she spoke her feelings aloud. Remus smiled and nodded in agreement.

"I know, love," he replied, stepping across the thinning Persian rug towards her, "I know." He took Cecilia in his arms and kissed the top of her head...

…which lead to Cecilia carrying out nothing productive in terms of her research work for almost an hour…

88888888

Once Remus had disapparated to the Order meeting Cecilia washed up the dishes before making her way into the utility workroom, flicking on the switch of the radio cassette player as she gazed out of the window and surveyed the darkened landscape.

The only lights that were present glimmered in the darkness on a hillside almost thirty miles away, like bright shimmering stars in the sky; indeed if they had been a little higher and Cecilia had not been familiar with the landscape then she would not have been able to distinguish them from the real stars in the heavens above.

"…Jono's late night love hour, with me, John Fellows. That's from midnight on Friday. Now, next up we have the Beatles with another of their classics, this time from 1964, "I wanna hold your hand…"

But Cecilia was familiar with the scenery, especially in the evenings. The radio, which had begun to fill the air with Paul McCartney's voice, had been a godsend on the evenings that Remus was away from the cottage; it kept her company and up to speed with current affairs. But what it did as well was to keep her mind from –

Despite her deep and passionate love for the wizard, Cecilia had never told Remus that the times he when he was away were the hardest to bear. The radio, despite its banal monotony, kept her mind from wandering to that place, so deep inside her head that she was afraid that she would never come out of it.

That was the part of her that invaded her mind when her defences were down, like two days ago when the idea formed in her mind, fully fledged as if well-conceived, that she would be able to make to Ambleside and back before Remus returned, taking with her some money to use in a phonebox. Not many Wells's in the phonebook, and it was Scotland. It would only take a few hours to find her mother and sister, and little Freya…just one phone call away…

Or, when she was idly chopping vegetables for the stew that evening, gazing out of the window at the group of amateur hikers decending slowly and painfully from Helvellyn. Guilt began to prey on her mind, of the self-consuming variety, hitting her mentally over the issue of her ability to prevent the death of her best friend; whether, if anyone gave her the choice between what she had now and what she had last July, what she would choose?

The radio, Cecilia had found, prevented the self-destructive thoughts crowd her mind and picked up her latest notebook as the Beatles were exchanged for a traffic report, retrieving her pen from the back of the wooden bench that stretched the length of the room and she turned to the next clean page.

"Number 30, base, " she wrote, tapping the black Bic biro on the page underneath this title and considered where to begin.

"…and we will resume our countdown of the Beatles' most popular hits in a few moments, after Shefali and the weather…"

…wintergreen oil, gnurr and murtlap. Carefully, under the light of the large candelabra that hung overhead Cecilia pondered her last entry. She had analysed the murtlap plant wherefrom the oil expressed upon crushing the flat, almost circular-shaped leaves.

It had been an interesting ingredient, seeming to prove unreliable under microscopic analysis; its consistency changing at will and it had turned out that, once blended into the classic potion, which Snape had instructed her to make, many months ago when he had returned half-alive from a Death Eater meeting, it had given an energy frequency and intensity which was compatible with the analgesic properties present in the lymph nodes.

Cecilia had begun to wonder lately whether they weren't actually tackling the problem the wrong way; whether the known properties of a spell or potion could predict its action in the body, which would therefore indicate its scientific properties. Very likely, she mused, but the possibility of exploring this was non-existent at the moment, so she had shelved the idea, leaving no record of it, save a small note to herself in the back of her latest notebook.

"…and there will be a treat for those watching the heavens this evening…" the female weather forecaster announced with gleeful abandon, "…a lunar eclipse, beginning at around one thirty seven…" Cecilia turned and looked at the red plastic radio and frowned, "…the reddish glow appearing most intense at around ten past three. And now, back to Jono…"

…a lunar eclipse. Cecilia turned back to her list of ingredients, marking which ones she had already analysed before…

"…one for insomniacs or those of us that are extremely dedicated, if you ask me, what do you think, Kate…?"

And as the A to Z of the Beatles continued to be broadcast on Radio Westmorland, Cecilia gazed once more out onto the darkened landscape, which suddenly seemed a little brighter than it had done an hour ago.

Well, at least Remus will have something to watch tonight, when he was out, at least he would keep his mind. The moon was beginning to rise between the mountains and she let her mind focus on the work, wondered whether no. 29 would be enough for Severus, it fitted the chemical pattern, but was it enough to prove his idea of a continuum on top of the energy levels, on top of developing Harry's potion?

Cecilia turned her mind to what Snape had said regarding late-onset symptoms of magic. His belief fitted very neatly with the wave-particle duality effect occurs for wizards, co-dominant genes which, when in one community for long time magic could be "switched on" and allow a person to advantageously metabolise energy into magic. There was plenty of anecdotal evidence to show this …

…turning from the window Cecilia looked at the second page in, at the list that she had compiled from her own experience…

…Henrietta: muggle born but went back to live in the muggle world and chose to give up her magical ability. Then there was Regulus Black, Sirius's brother. He was part-metamorphomagus which had allowed him to change into Sirius. This in itself suggested a continuum along the Maxwell Boltzmann projection. That is to say a range of times and occasions when wizardlyness showed itself, depending on the choosing of the person. And if that turned out to be the case a few searching questions would open up…

It was a spectrum of genetics, rather than classic Mendelian; dominant and recessive.

"…and on the programme tonight…the murders at Halloween. How will the Prime Minister account for them in his statement tomorrow and will that be enough to satisfy the public on the eve of the General Election? Find out in the "Today" programme, tomorrow here on Radio Westmorland…"

Cecilia flicked closed the book and looked at the radio, thanking her lucky stars again for that little gadget. It had kept her sane for the last few months, that was for sure. From Lord Gyllene the Grand National winner, and Cambridge winning the Boat Race now the General Election it had been her tie to the non-magic world and she'd mused at how she had ever managed to cope in the wizard world without it.

She supposed she hadn't, Cecilia thought to herself as she left the utility room, flicking off the radio at the switch and made her way across the kitchen. Not knowing who she was and getting lost in magic had drove her mad over the last few months of her employment…into despair…into depression…when she felt that everyone was against her…

But now she had her work, and she had Remus. As long as she kept focused on those things, the future looked bright indeed for them.

Opening the living room door Cecilia lit the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling in the living room. That would be a long way off and would take a considerable amount of work. Tonight he had the Wolfsbane potion which meant would not be a danger to her when he transformed. And should he decide to stay at the cottage rather than stop out she would be able to gain even more knowledge and understanding of his condition.

Realising she had her second letter for Snape still in her hand she re-entered the kitchen and placed the envelope on the side where the other one wasn't. Remus had obviously taken it with him that evening, off to the Order meeting…

…a flutter of desire crept into her stomach, tempting her with the knowledge of the meeting that would be taking place. A double edged sword of desire to know, she knew. If she had gone, she would have wanted to be privy to the Order's duties, in the same way as she had been when they had accepted her into their confidence last August.

And then what? She would be caught up in it all again and before she knew it agreeing to teach at Hogwarts again.

Glancing out at the darkness now, her racing heart pounded in her chest. However tempting that life was, it was far from desirable. She had her life here now, with Remus. It was for the best. As she and Remus had agreed.

A walk, Cecilia thought. That would do her good. It would put her thoughts into perspective. Excellent, agreed her cerebellum. Get your coat; an hour'll do it.

Hurrying over to the kitchen cupboard Cecilia grabbed the nearest jacket and pulled on her walking boots before exiting the cottage through the living room door, bolting it behind her.

So, if no. 29 does not give evidence of a continuum, what next? Cecilia she stepped out onto the thin soil that covered the igneous landscape and a warm evening breeze tickled the skin on her face. Where to from here?

And how would this influence her other, hitherto embryonic but potentially as earth shattering as the universal link, research? Glancing at the cottage behind her she continued to walk towards the rising moon.

Inside the cottage hearth a face glowed in the embers bright green for a second before disappearing, as if it had never been…

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	3. The End and the Beginning

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

88888888

In the kitchen at Twelve, Grimmauld Place Molly Weasley fussed over a buffet of food which she had already spent all that afternoon over, pacing before it, straightening out imaginary creases from the already plane tablecloth and readjusting plates of sandwiches with a worried expression on her face.

"Don't worry, Molly, it looks lovely," declared Tonks, striding into the kitchen and scrutinising the plates and dishes, peering curiously at a multicoloured layered jelly that towered over the artistic culinary display. "Getting quite full out there," she added reaching towards a plate of brandy snaps which Mrs Weasley took out of her each just before Tonks knocked over a tower of Jaffa cakes.

"Good," nodded Molly, ignoring Tonks's defeated expression. "I hope it's a full house; I doubt any of us want to miss what Dumbledore's got to say to us; it's been such a long time in coming." Turning, she picked up a small copper pan which had been hovering six inches over the old stove and clicked her fingers at the wooden spoon which had been hitherto stirring its contents slowly before pouring the thick custard-like substance over a steam pudding.

"I wonder what he's going to say," mused Tonks, as the noise of wizards apparating, greeting one another, shuffling and walking between the hall of the large magical terraced house in the North of London to the living room and clapping each other on the back as they broke into conversation and exchanging information echoed through to the kitchen. Almost two months since the last official Order meeting, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle after the Great Battle and an anticipatory atmosphere was beginning to build.

"I doubt it's going to be good," replied Molly, pursing her lips as she analysed the spread of food again, moving a few plates so they were more symmetrical at the back of the table. "There's the Ministry and Fudge's interference," she continued as Tonks raised her eyebrows through the fringe of her bubble-gum pink bob, "all the work they're doing to try to catch You-Know-Who," she added and Tonks nodded in agreement.

"They do seem to be milking it for all its worth," conceded Tonks, considering the plate of jam tarts near her left elbow, "I mean, everything – _EVERYTHING_ – the Order sent to them they've analysed and delved into." She shook her pink head in disbelief.

"Well, we won't have to wait too long to find out now," said Molly, as Minerva McGonagall's statuesque figure appeared in the doorway and she smiled at the elderly witch who took a few steps inside the kitchen in acknowledgement, looking approvingly at the food that Molly Weasley had made her labour of love that day.

"Looks beautiful, Molly," she nodded, smiling warmly at Tonks who, elbows still on the large oak table was resting her chin on her hands in a bored manner. "Tonks," she nodded and the young witch smiled back at her.

"I've been trying to tell her that all evening, Minerva but she still keeps on fussing," muttered Tonks, sitting upright as the French Fancies caught her eye, ignoring Molly Weasley's tut of exasperation. "And we won't all be here tonight," she added, getting to her feet and following Minerva McGonagall's silent gesture, indicating that her presence was required in the living room.

"We're having the meeting in the living room tonight Molly, starting in about fifteen minutes' time." Minerva waited until Mrs Weasley nodded before sweeping out of the kitchen and into the living room, Tonks in her wake.

Closing the door behind her, Minerva McGonagall ushered Tonks through throngs of Order wizards and to the back of the living room, close to the large phonograph (last used at the infamous Christmas Ball) before sitting on the smallest of the four plush purple settees (also acquired at Christmas and as yet unreturned). Tonks sat next to her, expectantly.

"We have everyone here tonight Nymphadora, with the exception of one." Ignoring the use of her first name, Tonks scanned the groups of wizards and witches, grouped in twos and threes; there was Arthur Weasley and Sturgis Podmore chatting to Elphias Dode and Elspet Banks; Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bertie Griffin watching enthralled with the demonstration that Charlie Weasley was giving akin to a fisherman proud of his recent catch; her cousin Sirius making casual conversation by the fireplace with Bathsheba Braddle…

"Remus," gasped Tonks quickly, looking back at Minerva, wide eyed before glancing down, embarrassed at her own admission of recognising Remus Lupin's time of the month.

"Perhaps," agreed Minerva nodding at Tonks, before looking back out at the group of wizards, whose number now included Remus, his hand on the door handle, peering into the living room. On catching Tonks's eye he smiled, and she returned it before looking back at McGonagall.

"Cecilia," she nodded, realising that she was not with him and then her eyes grew wider in further anticipation. "Then what she said was true…" Minerva glancing back out at the sea of wizards, as Sirius broke off his conversation with Bathsheba before pacing over the thin, ragged carpet towards his friend, engaging him in a brief exchange, clapping him on the back in apparent delight.

"In that case two Order members are absent this evening," clarified the witch. "This evening, for the first time in the history of the Order of the Phoenix, I will be chairing the meeting. Dumbledore has regrettably informed me half an hour ago that he would be unavoidably detained at the Ministry upon a matter which concerns us entirely." Tonks watched the elderly witch push up her spectacles by the bridge, fixing her with a severe stare.

"It is the discussion to which you were privy, albeit illegitimately two days' ago which Dumbledore wishes to become common knowledge amongst us tonight." Tonks shifted on the plush, expensive (and contraband) settee frowning at Minerva. "The significance of this you will understand, Nymphadora, tonight," McGonagall added cryptically, "for, while the content of tonight's meeting is important, the fact that it is being held at all, and the future of the Order is also at stake…"

While Minerva spoke to Tonks, the final few wizards made their arrival including Snape, who sidled through the hall-to-living room door, standing conspicuously by the staircase, folding his arms and surveying the wizards coldly and stroking his left forearm absently.

"Evening Severus," greeted Bill Weasley, noticing the austere, grave stature of the tall wizard (ex. Death Eater, Professor of potions at Hogwarts and part-time scientific researcher) and acknowledging him warmly. "How's things?"

"Fine," intoned Snape coldly, "all fine," he added, nodding in Sirius's direction. "Sirius," he added, following Sirius Black's passage across the carpet. "How are you?"

"Very well, Severus," he replied, holding out a hand. Snape took it, shaking it politely. Many of the Order stopped their conversation automatically at this extraordinary sign; although an uneasy truce had taken place following the Great Battle and subsequently through their revival of Cecilia with Snape's experimental remedy, astonishment was still the default response at such a gesture considering their hitherto volatile history.

"Good, good," nodded Snape, glancing past Sirius and at Remus. Sirius followed his gaze, watching as his friend approached them.

"And yourself Remus," nodded Snape again, the apparent politeness absent in his expression and tone of voice and Remus inclined his head politely.

"Thanks to you," he added as Sirius gave him a sideways glance, "Cecilia gave me the wolfsbane potion. She is well, as you know," he added knowingly. Snape curled his lip but said nothing as Remus delved into his robe.

"She asked me to pass this on to you," he added, giving Snape the letter that Cecilia had left in the kitchen for him to take that evening and the wizard took it, staring at his own name written neatly in Cecilia's handwriting. "Something to do with the research," Remus added, as Snape continued to stare at it.

"Her work has been invaluable, as always," replied Snape, as he hastily stowed it inside his robe, glancing at Remus, "though her location so far from Hogwarts has slowed the rate at which we are proceeding." He broke off as he watched a flicker cross Remus's face. "I trust she is well? And coping in a wizard household?" he added tenuously.

"Yes Severus, she is. And your concern about her domestic arrangements are – " Remus broke off when he realised Sirius was looking about them; others of the Order had inched their way into the conversation. Mr Weasley smiled at Remus when he turned and looked at him.

"Good to see you, Remus," he said heartily, smiling at him and Sirius. "Am I to understand that you are under the influence, that you managed to make the meeting at this time of the month?" Remus nodded, looking between him and Snape. "And Cecilia?" Remus nodded again, flicking his eyes across to Snape momentarily.

"She is well, Arthur," he nodded. "Likes to do things her way. She even got Grandmother's old stove working; won't let me do anything by magic if she can do it the muggle way." He nodded towards Mr Weasley, who grinned at Remus, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"If it were me, I would insist," commented Sirius, absently.

"Well, you can take the muggle out of her world, but can't take the muggle out of her," he laughed. The others, with the exception of Snape, laughed too.

"Indeed, Arthur. I'm never quite sure what I'm going to find when I get home." Turning, he noticed Sirius's wry smile.

"Yes," agreed Tonks, who had appeared at Sirius's right. "Muggles can be a bit strange in the wizard world at first. Evening Remus," she smiled. "It was ace seeing you both last week; Nick appreciated it too," she added animatedly.

"So the cottage up there is secure, Tonks?" asked Sturgis, stepping over to join them. "I know Dumbledore went out there with you, Remus," he added hastily, sensing Remus's defensiveness.

"Great," agreed Tonks. "Even Inapparatable and Inflooable unless you know the secret password," she added with a grin. "Nick had never Floo'd before." Remus made a sidelong glance at Snape.

"But we see she's not with you tonight, Remus," pressed Kingsley Shacklebolt, his large frame towering next to Arthur Weasley. "Too overwhelming?" Remus shook his head.

"She's got her mind caught up in her work, as usual," he replied, smiling at Kingsley. "Far better for her to be there, being productive than here tonight, with whatever's going on." Remus took a step back, smiling at all of the wizards who had gathered around them, catching Minerva McGonagall's meaningful gaze as she stepped before them.

88888888

McGonagall stood before the Order of the Phoenix, not quite her usual steadfast self. Oh, she could stand before her pupils at Hogwarts well enough, when she was teaching transfiguration; disciplining; presiding over detentions; encouraging on the Quidditch pitch.

And it wasn't as if she hadn't stood before nearly all of them in this stead before, yet standing in front of over two dozen expectant faces, waiting to receive and share information, obtain instructions and look to the head of the Order, the task seemed overwhelming.

However this evening, the head of the Order had been unavoidably detained, caught up in the predicament that Minerva had promised Dumbledore she would divulge to the Order, in its horrifying gravity.

She must facilitate its discussion and come to a satisfying conclusion all within the space of an hour with wizards with significant vested interests. All things considered, thought Minerva as she surveyed the Order members, she would have felt happier igniting a basketful of dragon eggs at close range.

Surveying the wizards, who were lined up neatly in rows, she tried her best to smile and summon some courage before a voice in the back of her head kicked her cerebellum into action.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," she began, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I would like to say first of all that it is with regret that Dumbledore cannot be with us this evening. He has asked me to chair the Order meeting." At this, there were various low mumbles from the Order as the wizards muttered amongst themselves and Minerva pressed on, ignoring them.

"There are a number of things to discuss and agree on; the first being the enemy. We know, from various reports following the Great Battle that Voldermort has been weakened beyond anything we could have hoped. Through the perseverance of one of our members – " here Minerva glanced approvingly in the direction of Remus, " – he was almost defeated. However he has not gone. And from past history we know he has recovered before, from the brink of death. Yes, Severus?" McGonagall acknowledged Snape's raised hand.

"We know why he wasn't defeated, or at least have a theory." Snape's voice rang out in the stillness that Minerva's announcement had induced and the Order wizards looked at him silently. McGonagall nodded in confirmation.

"Yes, Severus, we will come to that. But first…an announcement. Dumbledore feels it is right to honour Cecilia for her work in science and magic, for her work on the Universal Link – " at her announcement there was a round of applause and she waited until it had died down, " – in the hope that one day it will be recognised officially." The applause began to start up again, but died away as Remus Lupin got to his feet, smiling and nodding politely.

"On her behalf I thank you," he began, his voice soft and his lined face placid. "Cecilia in her wisdom anticipated something of this nature…" he smiled at the wizards and witches before looking back at Minerva. "Perhaps something mentioned in the minutes?" he suggested, glancing at Arthur Weasley and a good-natured murmur began to ripple through the Order.

"How is she, Remus?" asked one wizard, at the front.

"Is she well?" asked another, Doris Crockwood, a small wizened witch near the front, one of whom who had originally objected to Cecilia's accession into the Order.

"She is perfectly fine," nodded Remus happily, "thank you for asking."

"…and the date of your wedding?" asked Bill, grinning widely at the back. Molly Weasley nudged him urgently, glancing at Tonks.

"…is a matter for another time," cut in Minerva before glancing at Remus.

"Quite right," he agreed, smiling at McGonagall, "please continue Minerva." He sat back down and turned to Sirius, who was also grinning.

"…she doesn't want gold, or anything then?" he asked as McGonagall continued to read the lengthy list of items on the agenda for the evening's meeting. "Not even a nice trip back to Hogwarts?" Remus gave him a stern look, catching Snape's igneous stare penetrating the side of his head as he pretended to concentrate on what McGonagall was saying.

He couldn't blame his friend; he knew Sirius of old and anticipated this attitude. But even so, when it came down to it he knew Sirius supported his relationship with Cecilia even if he did try to provoke low level conflict. Tonight he would show his friend just how much he still needed him, for that's where Sirius's motive came, he knew.

Banishing the uncomfortable thoughts of the forthcoming evening to the back of his mind Remus concentrated his thoughts on the reports from the Ministry that each member who worked there was giving.

"…passing a bill to prevent muggles coming to Diagonalley or other wizarding locations at all." Sturgis Podmore was on his feet, as he had been for the last ten minutes, briefing the Order with a summary of news. It would seem that rather than the Order's information being beneficial to the Ministry a sort of low-level panic was beginning to set in as more and more legislation was being brought in to heighten wizard security.

"…they say it is to do with security, though I can't see how," he added, wrinkling his nose so that his toothbristle moustache wriggled, as if it were alive. "They are allowing access to those with existing muggle permits, but refusing to renew any."

"Panic, that's all it is!" declared Moody, shaking his walking stick in protest. "The Ministry can't tell their arse from their elbow, present company accepted," he added, his dynamic eye swirling in its socket. "They just don't want to admit that they've been wrong all these years!" he growled, menacingly.

"Personally, I have to agree," said Minerva, stepping back in front of the wizards again as Alastor Moody settled himself down grudgingly in his chair. "Which brings me back to our meeting here." She surveyed the wizards again, looking at each one in turn.

"The Ministry's involvement in the Great Battle was intended to be its first and last contact with the Order of the Phoenix. At the Battle, Voldermort was supposed to be defeated and the existence of our organisation terminated because our work was finally done." Minerva exhaled.

"However, Voldermort was not defeated and as a result, our existence as a secret organisation is under threat through the knowledge the Ministry has procured. Currently Dumbledore is at the Ministry – "

" – so that's what Umbridge meant!" exclaimed Tonks, elated and Minerva nodded.

"Indeed: Dumbledore has been at the Ministry for the last three days trying to smooth over and sort out the situation. Back in March they agreed in principle that our existence in was a good thing in retrospect – " at this there was a roomful of spontaneous applause, " – however," Minerva continued, caution in her voice, "there are a number of things that they are not happy with in the paperwork that was sent to the Ministry, one being our existence – " at this, there was a resounding boo, " – and another, "she looked across at Tonks.

"Tonks, perhaps you would be good enough to share with us what exactly you did overhear the other day?" At this, the young witch, her candy-pink hair growing brighter and more vivid, got to her feet.

"A few days ago I happened to be down in the Deep; the lower floors of the Ministry," she clarified, as she looked upon some puzzled faces. "A couple of people were talking, just beyond my hearing but I caught a few words that sounded like "Muggle Studies"." Getting into her stride, Tonks stepped forward, onto Charlie Weasley's foot and she quickly mouthed an apology before continuing.

"The Undersecretary to Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, was speaking to someone about Hogwarts, saying that Dumbledore was foolish to set Muggle Studies as an exam subject and even more foolish to allow a muggle to teach it." She grinned at the wizards, who began to speak amongst themselves again.

"…that's what they would say!"

"…total rubbish!"

"Well," said Tonks loudly, endeavouring to maintain quiet so she could continue with the story, "the person she was speaking to asked what was going to happen now, and surely that wouldn't continue. Umbridge replied that under Dumbledore anything was possible, but the curriculum at Hogwarts may not be under his control for much longer!"

Tonks sat down on her chair, at the back of the living room while the wizards began to talk loudly and freely amongst themselves, turning to one another as they talked. Tonks and Minerva exchanged looks as the discussion grew around them.

"…well seeing as Dumbledore has set Muggle Studies as an exam subject, then either Dumbledore or the Ministry must find someone to replace her if Mrs Frobisher doesn't return?" Mrs Weasley, stepping determinedly before Minerva spoke above the wizards, folding her arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, Cecilia I meant," she added, turning to Lupin and giving him an apologetic look. "Has she decided to return? Summer term's only a few days away, and we really ought to know who will be teaching; especially if they are to take their OWLs…" Molly wrung her hands anxiously as Remus turned to her, smiling.

"She does wish to return." It wasn't Remus who spoke this time. Snape was on his feet and speaking to Molly. "She wishes to return to finish the potion." His words fell like slabs of granite onto basalt and he glared at the wizards from his place near the fireplace in the living room, his eyes resting on Remus again momentarily before looking at Molly.

The room was as one, was now silent waiting for the next move, so still as if everyone present was holding their breath. Then Remus got to his feet.

"She does," he sighed wearily, conceding the point to Snape. "But not until September at the very least."

"And in the meantime? It would be in her interests, and ours were she to return to Hogwarts; that would take the Ministry out of the equation." Remus turned sharply and realised that it was Sirius who was speaking now.

"How is the work proceeding, Severus?" asked Minerva, diverting the attention of the Order from the silent exchange taking place between the two old friends. "Can you estimate the length of time until the potion is ready?" Snape looked from Sirius and Remus and back to Minerva, nodding slowly.

"The work is at a critical stage." He folded his arms and took two large strides towards the front of the meeting, standing to McGonagall's right and surveyed the wizards and witches malevolently.

"How strange it is that, a few months ago, when we stood here contemplating the fate of Mrs Frobisher, contemplating the validity of the work that the first item in our meeting is our unanimous decision to honour her. However, her incarceration from any society, whether wizard or muggle has not prevented her from making invaluable advances over the last few months." He glanced at Remus Lupin, who was half out of his chair.

"Not now," hissed Sirius, pulling him back down.

"P- Harry made a full recovery and appears unharmed," Snape continued, ignoring Remus. "From the original we have a crudely-tuned potion which, when it has been fully developed and attuned, will be fit for purpose. However, as we do not know when it will be required we need to work quickly as well as accurately. Mrs Frobisher's disadvantageous proximity may be more than a disadvantage should an attack come quickly."

"Thank you, Severus," said Minerva, stepping forward into the space Snape vacated and watched with the others as he strode back to his seat and she swallowed, the unease of her next announcement dwelling in her chest. What she had to say would make Snape's inflammatory report sound positively charming.

"Sadly, this is not an option for more than one reason," she continued, the focus from the Order now back on her. "Following the reports made at the time of the Great Battle they were sent for filing by the Aurors of the Ministry. So many were the reports and so detailed, the Cornelius Fudge chose to distribute the work amongst the entire staff, sectioning off the work into departments." Breaking off she saw the wizards and witches who worked at the Ministry, Mr Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Sturgis Podmore, Bathsheba, look at one another and nod.

"Yes, Sturgis?" She nodded at Podmore, who had raised a hand.

"The Ministry are aware of our existence." He stood up and spoke plainly, his moustache bobbing up and down as he spoke. "They always have been." Around him, others continued to nod in agreement.

"Yes, they knew before," replied Minerva, "they knew Dumbledore had a secret society. But officially, officially. The knew of the existence of the Order of the Phoenix, but nothing else. The wizards present at the Great Battle, each had a good reason to be there, so I suggest that each and every one of you have a foolproof reason should anyone come asking."

Around the room, a murmuring began to arise and the gravity of the situation began to dwell on Minerva. Dumbledore should be doing this, Minerva thought. This is dreadful; I can give no reassurances; Albus! They need you, not me for this.

Looking round at the wizards in turn, those who had been with them the first time round; those risking discovery or danger; those losing heart underneath the smiles and the optimism.

"So what is the Ministry's full knowledge?" Elspet Banks raised her hand, her shrill voice bouncing through the air as she nodded her head, her errant curls bobbing in time with her voice.

"Kingsley?" Minerva turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt, sitting near the back on her left. "You are the most senior Ministry employee; perhaps you are the best to field this question?" To her relief, the large black wizard nodded his head.

"Certainly, Minerva," he intoned, his face stern as he rose to his full height. "The situation is much as you have heard," he continued, his rich resonant voice filling No.12 Grimmauld Place's living room. "The Ministry are aware of a secret group led by Dumbledore who were present on the evening of the Great Battle. They are suspicious of our members however certain leniency that was once granted to Dumbledore has been removed in light of the security measures that have been put in place." He glanced around the wizards before continuing.

"What Minerva is trying to say, if I may be so bold – " McGonagall nodded slightly, " – is that because the Head Department Ministers have agreed that the main priority is to maintain security for wizards this includes the task of discovering the exact nature of the Order; securing the wizard world from knowledge by muggles and to tighten wizard security at the Ministry and homes. All Knowing muggles of a year or more are allowed to keep their permits, which they must carry, at all time; those of less than a year will be Befuddled. This includes the parents of muggle-borns at Hogwarts," he added, nodding in confirmation at the many startled looks he was getting.

"It's true, they are the busiest department," interjected Bathsheba, nodding sadly.

"Well this is dreadful!" exclaimed Agnathea Boutes, the proprietoress of Boutes the Apothecary in Diagonalley. " The Ministry are interfering!"

"It's worse than that; they seem to be very doing it by the book," replied Tonks. Arthur and Kingsley nodded in agreement.

"And I think we've got worse to come; you should see the decrees that are coming in," continued Arthur, reaching up to the quill that he was enchanting to take the minutes of that evening's meeting and smoothing its feathers agitatedly. "The paperwork and things we have to do; Fudge isn't taking any chances after looking stupid about Voldermort before."

"Interfering!" declared Agnathea, banging her gnarled walking stick on the thick Persian carpet.

"Well, we did call them in," replied Elspet, turning to Agnathea, "well Dumbledore did. We couldn't have done it without them."

"That's debatable!" scoffed Sirius, folding his arms. "All this was supposed to be over anyway, from what you said, Minerva," he added, looking at McGonagall. "When they found out about us we wouldn't be meeting; it would have been an academic exercise…" He broke off when he saw her glance quickly at Remus before returning her stare to Shacklebolt and he followed it, frowning.

"In addition," continued Kingsley to the Order as they turned to him too, "the Ministry aim to discover the meaning of the Universal Link which was mentioned in one report…" He returned the discourse to Minerva, like verbal table tennis.

"…Dumbledore has a few questions to answer about all of this, in particular of the Wizard enemy number one, who poses the highest security risk. The most wanted muggle, Cecilia Frobisher."

At Minerva's words the murmuring amongst the wizards stopped again, every one of them becoming inanimate and struck dumb. I've done it now Albus, she thought. I've gone too far. You'd have known when to stop…"

Just then, the silence was punctuated by laughter. Remus had broken into a grin, which had developed into mirth.

"She…would be…very proud of that!" he chuckled, beaming.

"So, she's safe and secure where she is, Remus dear?" Molly Weasley was out of her seat again, and approached Remus, her face a mask of concern and she held his arm urgently. "No-one other than us knows where she is?"

"She doesn't go out much, Molly," he replied calmly. "And only those who know the secret password can gain access."

"Even so, Mrs Frobisher is not a prisoner," added Sirius as he caught Snape's ashen expression. "She's well hidden."

"Dumbledore did most of the charms himself," said Remus quietly. At this, Molly let out a sigh, retiring to her seat and holding her husband's arm in an outward show of relief.

"What of her family, Minerva?" Mr Weasley held his hand aloft and continued to charm the quill into writing the meeting's minutes on the thick parchment binding, glancing at her before looking at the witch who had raised her hand.

"Bathsheba?"

"I go there three times a week; Mrs Wells, Miss Wells and the child believe they always lived in that house in Aberdeen and that the girl is Cecilia's sister's child…" she nodded about the wizards as she spoke, her voice and tenor quick and urgent, "…going about muggle business, from what I can tell…"

"...but she could still technically come back to teach," said Arthur. "Dumbledore has jurisdiction at Hogwarts…"

"…for how long? It would be rather foolish of him to do so," replied Shacklebolt, giving Arthur a knowing look and he nodded. As he did so a look passed between Minerva and Snape.

"Then I need to inform you this the reason for Dumbledore not being here. Tonight he is at the Ministry for questioning regarding the circumstances surrounding the Great Battle. He is there under his own volition. Tomorrow…" she broke off, glancing at Kingsley before fixing the group of students under her gaze, preparing to give them bad news…detention…no supper…no quidditch…

"Tomorrow he will be taken under full guard to face the Wizengamot."

Minerva held her face firm as the gasps from all assembled broke into exclamations of disgust and alarm, horror and disbelief. Above the cacophonous commotion, Remus's voice rang clear.

"On what grounds, Minerva?" Like many of them, he was also on his feet but the look on his face was one of grave concern rather than outrage.

"High wizardly treason. For presiding over a subversive group and for engaging in muggle-wizard relations. Being a Reciprocator," she qualified.

"What of Voldermort?"

"As we are aware," replied Kingsley, still on his feet, "the majority of the Death Eaters are at Azkaban and the rest are sought by the Ministry Aurors."

"And the Order?"

The silence that followed was broken only by this single question, though voiced by Molly Weasley it echoed the feelings of all.

"As yet, unclear. We shall endeavour to assist, as we have always done indirectly, with fighting Lord Voldermort and the remaining Death Eaters still at large. However our present organisation may soon be out of the question…" Minerva stopped as the uncertain air permeated even her own mind. Stop talking now, she told herself sharply.

"But we will continue to do it, won't we?" Tonks's voice spoke tentatively, her voice cut with concern.

"No-one knows, love," replied Mrs Weasley soothingly.

"In that case," continued McGonagall, "as we are still not sure of the future we should continue our meeting as we have always done. May we start with the reports from Azkaban?"

88888888

The meeting concluded very abruptly with the reports form the Auror shifts, having gone through the usual procedure of sharing the information they knew. It had taken almost two hours and most of the wizards and witches had something to contribute. But Minerva could see that there was nothing else in many of their heads than what she had just broken to them. She couldn't blame them; she had been shaken herself when she had received the owl from him that afternoon. All she could do…all any of them could do, was to trust Dumbledore.

At least now, she thought, looking around the wizards, who had broken up into their informal groups again, were chatting amongst themselves and Minerva was heartened that most of them had remained behind to be ushered into the kitchen by Molly as she fussed over the sandwiches and cakes that had been her labour of love, although a few had taken their leave straight away.

She watched from her place near the door to the kitchen as Remus and Sirius took a few sandwiches each, chatting to one another by the fireplace.

"What do you think's going to happen tomorrow? With Dumbledore?" asked Sirius patting Remus on the arm as he glanced around the living room; most of the conversations around them, though informal contained snippets of Dumbledore's treason charge and implications of it on the future.

"It'll be fine," Remus replied, looking down at the worn stair carpet. "He'll be fine." He felt his friend's hand on his shoulder and looked at him.

"Full moon tonight," he replied, answering Sirius's silent question and he nodded in understanding. Remus took a step back and uncurled his clenched fist. "I've got the potion…" He looked at Sirius, hoping he could convey what he was feeling without having to explain. Just then Sirius looked past him and Remus turned to see Minerva standing behind him, and glowering behind her Snape.

"Goodnight," she said, smiling at Remus. "We're about to leave. It's been wonderful to see you." Looking down she made to shake his hand but instead she looked at his open palm, smiling a little before looking at Sirius. "Thank you," she repeated.

"Give my regards to Cecilia," said Snape, looking at Remus before stepping into the hearth. Remus's expression changed but Sirius held his friend's arm.

"Yes," nodded Minerva warmly. "I'm happy for you both," she added before stepping next to Snape. Within seconds both of them had departed by Floo. Remus watched as the hearthglow dimmed to nothing, his mind blank until he heard Sirius's voice by his ear.

"So am I," said Sirius, softly. Remus turned and looked into his friend's eyes. "Just thought I'd say; I don't think I've said that before," he smiled.

"So, I suppose with that potion, you won't want Mr. Snuffles tonight," he continued as they made their way past ever-dwindling groups of wizards and witches, still chatting and laughing amongst themselves; the bombshell of the evening being slowly replaced by easy familiarity. "It'll be the fire in your cottage tonight, with a pair of warm hands caressing you…"

Remus turned to Sirius, noting the disappointment in his friend's tone as he tried to sound casual.

"You'd better not, Padfoot; there's no way Cecilia'd approve of that. No," he smiled, holding open the kitchen door, nodding at Molly, who had broken off her animated conversation with Tonks as they made their way in. "On the contrary. Tonight's a lunar eclipse. I'm going to need you more than ever tonight…"

88888888


	4. Good Intentions

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

88888888

The man picked up the keys to his Mercedes, looking back at the telephone handset that he had just replaced on the receiver. Even though it was nearly midnight, the usual time for him to get home he felt lethargic, as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders which he was being forced to take with him everywhere he went.

Not that he had much choice about the deal he had just entered into. Many people in his profession and situation were involved in fraud, deception or money-laundering; it was almost commonplace and those foolish enough to get caught and have their names splashed all over the papers every so often were the only the tip of the iceberg.

And besides, it was only necessary because of the way the shares were going these days. He couldn't remember the last time he had made a profit.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he pocketed his keys and turned from his desk to look at the sleek silver door inlaid with tinted glass. No, he thought as he made his way towards it, he'd done the right thing. The right thing for himself and his family.

Putting his hand on the door handle, the man looked back at the desk, his eyes resting back on the telephone. However, he was worried. Not about the conversation; he'd engaged in many such discussions (albeit legitimate ones) before, but the make-up of the conversation and the way the man had spoken.

He was foreign, that was obvious. But who aside from young children and computer geeks would be interested in those sorts of things? The IRA? The Mafia? ETA?

Nevertheless, thought the man, he would be able to bring home what he should be bringing home had the shares and stocks not bottomed. The money he was entitled to.

He couldn't explain it to his wife; she wouldn't understand. Sadly, he had married a woman, though beautiful, who was, he hated to say, shallow and materialistic. What choice did he have, when it came down to it?

Turning back to the door, he strode forthrightly towards it, opening it by the ultra-modern handle which slipped beautifully in its mechanism allowing him to pull it open gracefully before treading carefully onto the plush hall carpet lit by footlights which shone the way to the car park.

Well, he'd just agreed, hadn't he? And you don't say no to that kind of people; the kind who have an inconveniently efficient way of turning up in the middle of the night at your house wearing balaclavas…

But…what did he know about what they were asking for? It seemed so ordinary, so banal. And, come to think of it, how had they ever got in touch with him in the first place? Perhaps he should just forget it…

…no… he would find a way. The alternative was for him to resign and get another job. They would have to sell the house and move out of London and away from Mother.

Pressing the one-way exit button on the wall the man waited for the adjoining sliding door to the underground car park to slide open.

…they would have to pay for child care, or Serina would have to give up work to look after them. And Mother. Especially now, with her failing health, she needed him…especially since he was the only one…

The man put his key into the large silver Mercedes, waiting for the buttons to glide upwards before he could open the door and a thought suddenly entered his mind…

…maybe his sister might be able to help them all at last…

88888888

The otherwise empty office of the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts suddenly became occupied by both its owner and the school's potions teacher. Both wizards had floo'd back to McGonagall's office on the ground floor of the school, one of only three fireplaces in the whole school where that mode of transport was connected.

Presently, Minerva McGonagall would have quite liked Severus Snape to have left her alone now they had returned; the gravity of her duty that evening before the Order had taken its toll on her mental and physical energy reserves.

Yet the wizard did not seem in a hurry to go. Indeed there seemed to be something on his mind and Minerva had a funny feeling she knew what it was.

"Severus, please sit," she said, gesturing toward a chair that was before her desk and trying not to allow her weariness to show in her voice. Just sit, she added impatiently in her head as Snape eyed the chair suspiciously and withdrew her own sturdy oak chair from underneath her desk, modelling the technique.

"Severus," McGonagall continued as Snape began to pace before the desk, glancing once or twice towards the chair. "In your opinion, this evening, do you believe I was right to have shared the information that I did?"

A few moments passed and then Snape stopped, sitting on the chair and faced her. He didn't reply immediately, but cast her a look before nodding slowly.

"The information is key to everything," he added, nodding again. "Dumbledore assigned you to the task. It is regrettable that on such an occasion where an atmosphere of camaraderie would have been preferable that such news had to be imparted." Snape stopped, fixing her a look, before glancing at the pile of parchment scrolls that Minerva had on her desk, finding the decoration on the top of Ernie Macmillan's essay on advanced transfiguration fascinatingly interesting.

"It was good to see so many of us there; all with the exception of Albus. And Cecilia of course." Minerva picked up a quill, smoothing out its feathers. "And everyone in such fine spirits."

"Indeed. Although there were some exceptions; Remus, for instance." Minerva caught Snape's eye briefly and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"There is a lunar eclipse this evening," he added, shuffling on the chair distractedly. And you didn't seem to choose your words too empathetically, Minerva thought to herself, glancing at her colleague before replacing the quill on her desk.

"I understand you returned her notes when you visited Cecilia this afternoon," Minerva continued, picking up the scrolls as if to sort them by class. Snape nodded slowly.

"Yes I visited her," he confirmed, getting to his feet. "She seemed grateful to have her belongings returned, especially after the events at her home. She seemed well and contented…"

"Contented," confirmed Minerva, pulling out the sixth year essays from the pile as Snape continued his distracted pacing before her.

"Yes, but for how long?" Snape's voice raised in amplitude and he turned to face McGonagall and the surprised expression on the witch's face made him reconsider his choice of words.

"That is to say, Minerva," he continued care fully, "with the complexity of our task she would be more suited here, rather than there. The research would be completed far quicker. And considering the interference by the Ministry, the quicker the better, wouldn't you say?" Snape turned and continued to pace over the dark blue rug that covered most of the office's floorboards

"Two months and this would be done. She could return; she could teach – " He stopped suddenly as he caught Minerva's look of warning.

"And I cannot believe you said that this evening, after everything," she chided, pausing in her organisation of her marking. "It was good of you to make his potion, but even so: their relationship is their business. As is Cecilia's residence."

"But is not this potion our business?" replied Snape quickly. "Mine and Mrs Frobisher's? For I doubt that I will be able to perfect it without her and I dare say those close to Potter will not wish me to develop something which could endanger him un-necessarily."

Folding his arms, Severus Snape continued to pace across the carpet before Minerva; clearly his frustrations were his reason for him still being in her office, she reasoned and she felt a stab of sympathy for him.

"You saw her this afternoon and she was well," Minerva reviewed, picking up her quill and waving her hand over her inkpot, changing the colour of its ink from blue to red. Snape nodded, in confirmation.

"I know this is academic given the circumstances Severus, but what did she say about the job proposal? Did _Cecilia_ say she wanted to return?" Snape stopped pacing and stood unmoving before the deputy headmistress.

"She said she would take the Defence Against the Dark Arts job," said Snape stiffly. Minerva looked up from the first essay that she was about to mark and frowned thoughtfully.

"Perhaps she could, you know," she replied, trying not to smile as a look of incredulity passed over the wizard's face.

"…you can't possibly be serious…"

"But she is well protected where she is; Dumbledore visited Lupin's cottage personally. And besides Albus has enough on at the moment to afford her the luxury of returning her to Hogwarts. No," she continued, dipping the quill in the ink and beginning to underline the mistakes in Macmillan's first paragraph.

"…with is about to happen; with the Ministry's constrictive laws and decrees, and their involvement here…"

"Surely that was just hearsay…" Minerva shook her head, pulling open her desk drawer.

"…no wonder Albus is scared," she continued, holding Snape's gaze. "Potter's visions are just the last in a long line of issues he has to deal with; he should have told the child years ago the truth of it all. What with where he is at the moment, Severus I have to admit, so am I."

"Then even more of a reason that Cecilia Frobisher should return to Hogwarts; you and I can protect her wellbeing. And there is the issue of Muggle Studies, although I understand that she left a comprehensive programme of study…"

"Och, that is more than sufficient for the entire term, but unfortunately…"

She paused broke off, holding out the item she had removed from her drawer and held it out in Snape's direction. Taking it from her, he pulled off the Ministry ribbon that held closed the folded piece of parchment and frowned at it, confused. Minerva McGonagall held her hands together, watching for the inevitable, waiting as Snape's expression dissolved into confusion as he re-read the information contained therein.

"No!" His thunderous denial of the facts before him reverberated around McGonagall's office, awakening a few creatures that resided in the books on her shelf and one or two portraits of sleeping antecedents of the deputy head, who protested groggily at the noise.

"Unfortunately, we have no choice, Severus," she nodded sadly as he re-read the edict furiously and she repeated the sentence over and over in her mind when, a few moments later Snape hastily left her alone in her office and proceeded quickly down the first floor corridor, edict firmly in hand.

In the seclusion of the potions classroom, Severus Snape stood before a roaring green fire, its flames licking and curling around the even-cut stones at the back of the hearth.

"…expect the details of the aforementioned Wizard Magic and Muggle Science to be fully revealed to our representative who will not only be teaching Muggle Studies but will be undertaking the research role formerly occupied by a muggle…"

A new muggle studies teacher; well there was no great loss there. No wizard job took the qualification of muggle studies seriously; that had been the reason Dumbledore had dropped the exam many years ago.

But sharing the information...carrying out research…

Snape screwed up the parchment tight into his fist, feeling its fibres compress satisfyingly as he considered the information that the aforementioned muggle had furnished him with via her fiancé that evening.

Waving his hand before the hearth the flames changed from floo green to incineration yellow and, as he fuelled the fire in the potions classroom with the foul proclamation Snape aired again the assertion he had made to Minerva McGonagall moments before he left...

…there was only one person with whom he researched science.

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The flames crackled in the living room hearth, bringing Cecilia out of her deep thoughts and making her jump.

Looking around her she realised it had grown much darker and the light from the fire which she had initially sat next to on the fluffy, mohair rug for warmth she now realised had become her only source of light.

It had also become her only source of heat and she reasoned that it must be quite late into the evening. Getting slowly to her feet the cuckoo clock that hung on the far wall confirmed her guess and she glanced down at her notes that she had been writing in her latest notebook.

Not that the notes in the back of it bore any relation to the ones at the front; indeed those at the front were connected to the potion and Cecilia had begun to detail the types of analyses that would be needed in order for Snape's hypothesis to be tested.

She had gone to a lot of effort with the work, for the concept of a continuum of muggles and wizards made perfect sense and, by the time they had made a breakthrough, either confirming or refuting the hypothesis the precise configuration of Harry's potion would be complete and he would be able to undertake the task that he had agreed to last year.

Yes, she thought as she made her way to the kitchen to find the matches and tapers, that was very exciting. It had never been done before and would mean that Voldermort and the Death Eaters would be at last eradicated; that empathy and understanding could begin to build about muggles with wizards, and maybe even the existence of wizards could be revealed to muggles.

Up until that afternoon such thoughts would have excited Cecilia thoroughly, for they would have been the only ones that were possible as a result of her work. It wasn't as if they weren't thoroughly valid and worthy of her attention...

…but now…

Quickly, she made her way across the living room, pausing at each of the four oil lamps that hung from the ceiling and lighting them swiftly before returning to her cross-legged position on the rug before the fire.

Now…

Past the detailed diagrams that she had painstakingly drawn, exploring the links in both magical and scientific lore. Past the cross-references and notes, past the evaluation of energies that may or may not have a bearing on the notion of a range of wizardly abilities and powers. Past even the extrapolation about traits in the wizard world, a small note to herself about similarities and differences in outlook and doctrine…

…right to the back third of the notebook where she had begun to make notes and eulogise the new research which seemed to have fallen inexplicably into her possession and which she had almost overlooked…

The information about werewolves that was tucked into the back of her Organic Chemistry and Synthesis textbook was detailed to the point of academia. In places the detail had been exemplary rivalling even her own attention to detail and if she could, Cecilia would have liked to have shaken the person by the hand for just this.

It was not a hand she recognised though; indeed it did not belong to Snape or any wizards she knew. Further, it looked to be quite old, and there were references to events that seemed to have happened in real life, as anecdotes peppering the notes.

But Cecilia didn't care about the origin, for it was the information the notes contained that was more exciting, so much so that her research into Harry's potion had taken a back seat in her mind. For what these notes appeared to be saying (in a flowery, wizardly manner) was that there was a way in which werewolves could be cured of their affliction…

Cecilia picked back up her notebook, that was filled with her own ideas and she was just about to read again when a "crack" followed by a brief flash of light interrupted her train of thought.

"Evening, love," said Cecilia when she saw it was Remus and, snapping her notebook shut, got to her feet and made her way over to him.

"It's late; had a good evening?" she continued, kissing him on his cheek. "Did you eat? If not, I could – " Cecilia broke off as another "crack" and flash of light filled the room. Remus turned from Cecilia and she watched as his weary face broke into a smile.

"I thought you were right behind me," Remus said, glancing back at Cecilia before kissing her on the forehead as Sirius gave him an indignant look.

"Well it took me ages to find exactly which mountain it was you lived on, Moony," he replied, glancing around the cottage. "Ooh, it hasn't changed much," he added, making his way over to the window sill near the back door. "Still got your mother's things I see; not changed since the last time we were here. Though not quite as lovely as my place," he added. "Hello, Cecilia."

"Sirius!" she replied, looking between him and Remus. "This is a surprise!" Remus looked at Cecilia and smiled again.

"Let me put the kettle on," Cecilia continued, extending her hand as Sirius made to embrace her in greeting.

"Tea would be lovely," he replied and Cecilia nodded as Sirius sat down in one of the wing-backed armchairs opposite the fireplace.

"Tea, love?" she asked of Remus and he nodded.

"But no milk," he replied before settling down in an armchair next to his friend.

As Remus and Sirius began to chat, Cecilia took the matches that she had used to light the lamps in the living room and used them to light the stove. In the same way that she had not been expecting Snape that afternoon she wasn't expecting Sirius that evening and she was grateful that now she had an opportunity for five minutes on her own whilst the kettle boiled to collect her thoughts.

Through the closed door the echoes of their conversation emanated and Cecilia made her way from the door to the tap by the sink as the roar of the flames in the stove began to consume the wood inside it.

"Lovely tea," said Sirius a few moments later as he sipped at beverage from Remus's mum's china.

"Yes," nodded Remus in agreement. Cecilia nodded before placing the tea tray between them before settling herself down on the rug again.

"Good," she nodded, picking up her research book and pen. "How was this evening?" she added.

"Interesting," replied Remus, glancing at Sirius. "Quite a few changes to procedure. And the Ministry seems to be sticking its nose in. They're to replace you at Hogwarts as muggle studies teacher," he added, smiling a little as his moustache wrinkled.

"And how was everyone? I saw the note had gone – " Cecilia glanced back towards the kitchen door.

"Severus was fine; his usual self, Cecilia," replied Sirius. "It was just like old times, except you weren't there. I think a few of us missed you – " He turned to Remus and continued, " – though I think we should have made the effort to have had an Order meeting before tonight; what with all we had to talk about none of us had enough time to catch up…"

It was amazing, thought Cecilia as she opened up her notebook. Four months ago he was trying to kill her and now he was sitting in her living room, discussing with Remus the exact location of their planned jaunt that evening.

It wasn't as if he wasn't capable, she reminded herself as she opened up her Organic Chemistry book again, but more the complete change in his demeanour. Then again, he had witnessed her try to give her life for Harry, face Voldermort and had colluded with Snape to revive her from her unconsciousness.

"…and when Kingsley asked Molly whether Percy had been at the Burrow for Easter when everyone knows he's taken up lodgings in a flat in London…"

Cecilia looked across to the two old friends, chatting easily in each others' company as she got to her feet.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, crossing over to Remus and leaning over to kiss him. "Enjoy yourselves," she added, glancing mischievously at Sirius, "I take it that's why you're visiting, Mr Snuffles."

"Of course," replied Sirius, as Remus kissed her back.

"Enjoy yourselves," repeated Cecilia, smiling as she made her way across the carpet before making her way upstairs. "There's a lunar eclipse tonight; that'll give you something spectacular to watch tonight."

"Night," she heard Sirius call as she got to the top of the stairs. A few moments later and Remus was standing behind her and Cecilia took her hand off the handle of their bedroom door.

"You don't mind, love?" asked Remus, a look of concern in his exhausted eyes. "I – " but Cecilia put a finger to his lips.

"I was looking forward to a night next to you in your wolf form," she admitted, stroking her hand through his hair as he encircled her waist. "But that was because I never thought Sirius might want to keep you company. It's wonderful," she added, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"I invited Tonks over, with Nick again."

"I'll cook," replied Cecilia dutifully, before frowning as a smile played on Remus's lips.

"I thought that I might cook this time, seeing as they are our friends." Cecilia grinned back, rubbing his arm as she recalled the last time they visited and her near disaster in the kitchen when, new to the stove she misjudged the cooking time on the wild pheasant that she had prepared that day. Thank heavens for magic, she recalled.

"Lovely," she replied, kissing Remus again. "Take care tonight."

As Remus made his way back downstairs, Cecilia entered their bedroom. The coolness of unoccupancy hit her face, cooling the flush of embarrassment that she was still feeling at the shock of their unexpected visitor.

Downstairs the backdoor clicked shut, and she realised that Remus and Sirius must have left for the evening. Eleven o'clock. Cecilia made her way across to the window, watching as she had done the last three times when Remus had transformed into a mindless monster…

…only tonight, things would be different…

From her vantage point, Cecilia could just make out the forms of two animals heading towards the west, towards Langdale Fell and the light of the pre-eclipsed moon shone on their glossy coats.

…this time, he was a wolf, nothing more. And he was in good company tonight…

Turning form the window, Cecilia lit the lamp in the bedroom before leaning against the headboard and drawing her knees up so that she could rest her notebook on them and began to consider her research, _her_ personal research again before recalling the image of two canine-like animals chasing one another over the darkened landscape…

…Sirius would make him feel young again, she thought as she perused her own notes. He could be himself with his friend, and he would be with someone who could help him and keep his spirits up…perhaps she should suggest Sirius visit every month…

"Eclipse," she read, from her notes. Why had she written that? "Cyclical symptoms," she had also written, though she had not added any more detail and to be more precise about why she would have to read the notes again, which were downstairs in her reference book.

Flicking shut the book and extinguishing the light Cecilia lay down on top of the bedclothes, looking at the ceiling in the darkness.

She wanted so much to be the person that Remus would gain support from during these times; what she wouldn't have given to be in Sirius's paws right now. If only Sirius hadn't arrived and Remus would be warming his fur now by the fire, having already told her of the main details of the Order meeting; about how the ministry were involved at Hogwarts; about how Harry and the others were…

If only…

At least tomorrow she could spend some time on this using the notes, then at least one day she could be with him every day…

…but for now, she could be contented…Remus would have taken his potion and his good friend was with him…he was happy…he was with the person who could help him the most if that potion did go wrong…

Sitting up, Cecilia glanced out of the window again and she smiled into the darkness. Even though she could see nothing, she knew…she knew Remus was out there, happy and contented.

With that final happy thought, Cecilia gave into tiredness and, throwing her clothes in a heap on the floor, slipped under the covers before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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Sirius relieved his shoulder of his friend's body, lying him down carefully on the bed whose covers he had just turned back carefully. He could feel Remus's cold sweat penetrate his clothes and Sirius's muscles groaned with relief as he slid his right arm from underneath him. Taking a step back Sirius considered the night they had spent in each others' company.

Well, not spent, exactly. The experience he had shared with Remus Lupin that night was hardly pleasant. Endured was a better adjective. But Sirius was grateful that he had been able to be there for his friend during the night for the nights when the moon passed fully into the earths' shadow were the single most painful experiences of the werewolf's life ending, as it always did with Remus's limp body collapsing to the ground in uncontrollable lifelessness.

As he gazed upon the face of his friend, a mask of pain over his unconscious features Sirius Black remembered back to the evening when he had first discovered about what it meant for a werewolf on the night of a lunar eclipse. Had it not been for Remus's urgent desire to share this knowledge with another of their peers, Sirius believed that he would never have found out. Not even James knew, and he was as much a friend to Remus as Sirius was.

It was that night that Remus had opened up to Sirius instead, describing to him that the torment of being a werewolf on such nights; as if every organ in his body was on fire, as if he was being tormented in his mind by conflicting urges and thoughts clamouring for attention, finally resulting after a few hours of that in unconsciousness. By all accounts, since the advent of wolfsbane the usually miraculous potion, despite keeping him from complete metamorphosis, did not help to temper these effects.

"You'll be all right, old thing," said Sirius softly as he took a few steps forward, shaking his left arm absently to allow the blood flow to return to his muscles once more. "In the morning, you won't remember…"

Sirius's whisper trailed off as his canine senses caught a faint odour on his friend's body. Leaning forward further he could see in the dull monochrome light that it was coming from one of many of his injuries and he reached out towards Remus's thigh.

His friend moved in his sleep as Sirius located the huge deep gash at the top of his thigh which was slowly oozing blood onto the crisp sheets of the bed below him.

"This just won't do," chided Sirius gently, looking up at his friend as he loosened his trousers to get at the wound. "You can't look like that for her when she wakes up…"

…looking from his friend Sirius's eyes drifted to Cecilia, her glossy hair catching the moonlight as she moved in her sleep and a feeling of self-consciousness began to creep over him. He was in their room, their own private domain. Really, he was an interloper and should not have been there…

…but he had every right to! Indignantly Sirius Black engaged in a silent monologue argument between himself an imaginary Cecilia, awake and annoyed, demanding to know why he had undertaken the role she felt was hers; to be with Remus Lupin when he needed someone special…

…I have every right, he shouted silently at her. I was the first person he told! I was the person who went with him, alone, on eclipse nights! I was the one who he trusted above all else! Why else would he want me to come with him tonight? He asked me…he _told_ me he needed him, Cecilia…!

But there would be no need for such defensiveness. Remus didn't need to reassure him that he – Sirius – was still a part of his life. He didn't need to assure Sirius that he still shared a part of his life that he was unwilling to share with another…even this muggle whom he had risked hell and high water just to be with. Not even her science could allow her to understand their bond…

…and yet…Sirius's eye caught Cecilia as she turned peacefully in her sleep. She looked peaceful as she lay underneath the bedclothes next to his best friend, naïve of the extent to which Remus needed him that night…

…the dimming moonlight continued to play on her features, her body moving slightly as she dreamed…

…you could not possibly know what we have, thought Sirius as the fading light made her skin shimmer as she moved towards Remus…nor how precarious your position is now…when you don't know it, out here alone…completely unaware that even now decisions were being made about you…because of you…and despite your attitude…

…so vulnerable…and yet lying there, she did not know it…

…were the thin cotton sheet to move a few inches to her left…and…if he reached out then…then he could touch her...touch her softly…that soft skin he had espied so many times…

…it was only when he realised that his hand was filling with blood that Sirius moved away from the sleeping Cecilia Frobisher and forced his mind clear in order to pay full attention to Remus's injuries…

A few minutes later and his best friend's thigh bound securely Sirius turned away and paced across the thinning bedroom carpet. Forcing himself to focus on his destination, the thin wooden door…and beyond…the winding stairs that led to the living room, Sirius concluded that disapparating, even to downstairs, was likely to wake either one of them or both, and that would not be fair on Remus after what he had endured that night.

Pausing over the immediacy and intensity of his feelings Sirius Black reached for the latch on the door, heaving it open before striding through and made his way downstairs to discover whether one of the cottage's decades-old settees would pass for a comfortable bed.

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	5. Confidences

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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Tabitha Penwright let herself back into the office, shaking her hair absently from the bun so it hung limply in her long bob. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning and the memo that had arrived in her hand as she was about to pass through the security gate had made her otherwise lighter heart sink.

She hadn't noticed Fyon Green, the minute, stocky security wizard who was trying to gain her attention as Tabitha strolled past him and he had resorted to pulling firmly on the end of her cloak in order to give her another thing to add to her ever-increasing "to do" list.

"Evening, Fyon, " she had nodded wearily at him as the three-foot wizard, grinned up at her, holding aloft the parchment. "How are you?"

"'s all fine 'ere," Fyon had replied, continuing to grin before proceeding to engage her in the minutiae of his security shift that had begun just over two hours previously and it taken Tabitha all the will she had still remaining to eventually back out of the monologue.

Crossing over to her desk, she glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost four in the morning, she noted, as the sundial shaped cogs began to lock into place. The middle of the night, Tabitha thought to herself as her eyes caught the outer circular rim. As if she didn't know that; with the work she had to do in these recent months she had barely had time to notice what daylight actually was.

And the ironic thing she realised, four hours into a Saturday morning, was that she had actually managed to arrange a day's leave. But now…

Crossing to her desk, a shadow crossed Tabitha's heart as fancied thoughts of shopping in the brightly decorated wizard street began to melt away and replaced with ones of work. She knew Dolores wanted to make a good impression with the investigation and that she – Tabitha – would have some questions to answer if it wasn't done.

Tabitha let go of the letter above her desk and watched it flutter down onto the polished wood before walking round it, pulling out the chair that she had tucked under it with satisfaction not half an hour ago and sitting on. Well, she thought resignedly, if she worked systematically there was a chance she would be out of there by late morning. And it would at least give her the opportunity to read through the weighty curriculum that she would have to teach at Hogwarts.

Not that she had a clue about teaching…but it didn't look that complicated; all you had to do was write out the material and mark it. They didn't seem to have to know too much for the exam in any case, and it was nearly all theory.

Looking back at the letter, Tabitha waved her wand in the direction of the filing cabinets again, enchanting over the files that she needed from the "A" section, watching them fly in an ordered fashion, like a train pulling concertinaed cardboard carriages, chugging through the dimly-lit office before arriving in a pile on the desk.

And, further to that, she had also acquired some notes hastily assembled (or so it appeared to Tabitha) and almost entirely incomprehensible, by their former teacher detailing a vast quantity and wide range of work that the students had already covered in muggle studies.

Tabitha waved her wand again, waiting for the relevant documents to rise up slowly, like toast in a toaster, popping up in slow motion as she considered the abortive attempts that she had gone to in order to locate this Cecilia Frobisher. She had heard that name before too; Tabitha had been taking the minutes of the first senior ministry meeting following the revelation of a secret society run by Albus Dumbledore and had written it down.

That was how she had become privy to the information left by the woman and how she had been employed by Dumbledore, as a muggle, to teach muggle studies. So Tabitha had gone about using every means possible since she had discovered what he own role was going to be to contact her.

But after three weeks of effort, even using ministry official enchantments, it hadn't worked and, as she'd watched the blue ribboned parchments disappear via the post imp and onwards, Tabitha presumed, to the owlery, she had become increasingly disconcerted by their return, a day or so later, unopened.

Tabitha held her hand above the letter again and watched as the documents that matched the relevant information: words, names and places written in her memo neatly arranged themselves and Tabitha began to look through them, reading the reports sent to the office by aurors as she scanned through to find what she was looking for.

Well, she would have to cope with what she knew, and trust that the students knew what they were supposed to be doing.

Half an hour later and Tabitha was making progress. Three files from "A" and one from "C" had matched the information contained in the memo.

As the weighty files from D made their way across the cabinet, Tabitha glanced at the desk to her left and mused at the workload of her colleagues. Vincento would be clocking on in a few hours. On his desk was already a pile of paperwork, delivered in regular intervals overnight, to be filed, catalogued and sorted.

"We're not secretaries, we're Mysteriours!" Tabitha could hear him complain. "We solve mysteries…"

She looked across at Gregor's desk and already files, memos and parchments were beginning to pile up, though perhaps not as quickly as on Vincento's. Perhaps it was because higher up they knew Gregor, an elderly wizard who had seen it all, would only do what was necessary and would only do it his way. Dolores, mused Tabitha, probably had not forgotten her wasted day down here over the incident with the halibut and a jar of Zonko's best boil cream.

As the "D" files shuffled for a place on her now well-covered desk Tabitha pondered their new objective. Yes, they were Mysteriours. Tabitha wanted nothing more than to be down on the floor making progress with her new mystery. But now, until the breaches of secrecy and security that had occurred at Hogwarts a few months ago had been cleared up and the muggles involved had been Befuddled…and she herself had finished teaching muggle studies at Hogwarts, she knew, sadly, that it was on hold.

As the fruitless "D" section returned back to its drawer to be replaced with "E", Tabitha's mind drifted to the memo and its contents. To her, just another list of things to do. Another task. But, she supposed, of importance to them. In its own way a mystery, at least to wizards. If she looked at it that way, Tabitha was sure she could get through it and through her teaching at Hogwarts.

So she alone it would seem, must speak to each of these muggles who knew, one way or another, of the magic world and collect information about science before befuddling them...

The thin "E" file whizzed through the air as the clock on the wall behind her marked the existence of five a.m. and Tabitha watched as the contents began to rise from the cardboard dividers even before it had come to rest on her desk before glancing at the memo again…

…at the top of the list, the muggle causing all the other paperwork…the muggle Tabitha had been trying to contact about her teaching…and she had something to do with science as well…

Reading through the memo again, Tabitha's eyes fell on the postscript as three documents slid themselves up from the file and added themselves to the growing pile on her desk and her heart began to sink.

"…as your timetable at Hogwarts will be relatively empty your spare time can be used to find out about as much muggle science and Cecilia Frobisher as you can…"

But, how am I supposed to do that? Tabitha thought glumly as "F" made its way across the office. I don't know anything about muggle science, except for what Robert used to talk about, and even then, it was barely comprehensible.

Well, it would seem, Dolores Umbridge had managed to answer that for her. Maybe, she suggested, more would be revealed from the official hearing that was to be held tomorrow before the Grand Wizengamot from the evidence that Dumbledore himself would present, for Tabitha had been selected as the Department of Mysteries representative.

Sighing, she looked back from the memo to the "F" file, which seemed to positively ripe with relevant documents as they rippled out of their bindings and stacked themselves in a separate pile next to the others.

But whatever Dumbledore said, thought Tabitha, how she was supposed to go about finding someone where the letters she had sent to her had all been returned unopened? If even with the power of the Ministry had eluded the detection of her, what chance did she have?

If only she could bring these doubts to her boss. But Tabitha knew what Dolores would say; indeed she'd said as much when she'd informed her of her role as teacher at Hogwarts, scoffing at Dumbledore's foolishness with regard to Muggle Studies by his making it an examinable subject and how he was sure to get his comeuppance before the Wizengamot.

Looking back at the list, Tabitha rolled her eyes. Eighteen muggles in just this one geographical location with connections ranging from their knowledge of the wizard world because their children received their Letters for Hogwarts through to…the most wanted muggle, Mrs Cecilia Frobisher.

And, Tabitha pondered, this would just be the start; these ones were just in a small section of the North West of England; other ministry officials would be doing similar things in the near future, she was certain.

But I suppose it's just as well, she thought as she raised her wand, returning the nearly empty "F" file back to its location in the second drawer down of the first filing cabinet. Security must be done; the Ministry had been made to seem foolish and needed to be seen to be doing something this time.

And so, Tabitha Penwright resigned herself to her imminent fate. As the files continued to sort themselves through she slowly unfolded a mapping parchment and began plot the information from the documents that had hitherto been sorted (the parchment transformed itself into an outline map of the British Isles) and she flicked her wand from the list to the map to begin the process.

It would take about three hours for the information to transplant itself under the Plotting charm and Tabitha would have to regularly check the information for accuracy. Slowly, Tabitha leaned back in her chair and opened up the Muggle Studies curriculum.

"Part 1," she read. "Muggles and their identification." Tabitha looked from the subtitle page and at the wood panelling on the back of the office door. How to spot non-magical people, she thought, as her gaze swept slowly across to the other, the one that led down downstairs.

They can't do magic, for one thing, Tabitha thought absently as she traced the engraved image of two question marks on the door with her eyes. Once the mapping began, then she would only need to check that it had worked. No harm in checking on her proper work…

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Cecilia awoke dreamily as the early morning sunlight invaded the room. Shafts of light glanced through the blinds and illuminated the bedspread, picking out part of the dark red poppies that were scattered, as if real, on the bedcovers. Cecilia turned over slowly to her left, watching the rise and fall of the poppy print before resting her sleepy eyes on her soon-to-be husband as he lay with his back to her, his right arm moving rhythmically as he breathed.

Slowly, Cecilia crept her right arm over him; nestling her chin by his shoulder as she allowed herself some time to wake up.

…he seems well…no new scars…

…opening her eyes Cecilia analysed Remus's back, whereupon he usually endured inflictions in his usual werewolf form. Nothing seemed to be fresh and new…

…although his breathing seemed a little laboured…

Well, a good long rest will do him good, thought Cecilia as she closed her eyes again and, looping her arm around him a little tighter her thoughts drifted to her jobs that day…

…Saturday morning and it was sunny; she could get some washing done…but first…the next batch of potion…number 30; she needed to estimate the ingredients and make up a rough base…and then there was the secret research that she intended to do on her own…she needed to read through the beautifully detailed notes again…work out how the moon played a part in his chronic illness…

…Cecilia opened her eyes as Remus shifted under her arm and she lifted her own from round his middle as he rolled onto his back. Cecilia inched further back over her own side of the bed as he turned over and she propped herself up on her elbow as she watched him breathe irregularly, his moustache moving with each inhalation and exhalation and Cecilia watched as the light caught his pale hair, a little matted and unkempt.

Pulling up the bedspread and turning back the cotton sheet, Cecilia looked at his chest, littered with patches of pale downy hair, and smiled as she realised he was covered in far fewer bruises than usual. He had come through relatively well, she thought, pulling the covers back over Remus and she sent up a silent thank you for Sirius having been there with him and also to Snape for making the potion for him.

…closing her eyes, Cecilia thought of the day ahead of her again…there were a few jobs she could do while he was sleeping; usually he was up in the late afternoon, so he might sleep until lunchtime, as the night had seemed far kinder to him…

…a good rest, that's what he needed. And what he did like too was a good breakfast and a mug of tea when he woke. It was the least she could do for him when she couldn't be there with him, and from the moment, almost three months ago when she left breakfast and tea on his chest of drawers after his first night out she had made it into his usual routine.

Opening her eyes and with a renewed purpose about the day Cecilia slid from under the duvet to the sash window opening it a few inches and allowing the early morning breeze in. She always knew when he was reheating it when he actually did wake because the smell of bacon wafted down the stairs…

…and maybe…it wouldn't take very long until it was the last time he needed it…her own secret…

As the breeze played with the net curtains, Cecilia looked across at her sleeping lover, as he turned in his sleep again onto his side. If she could just get it right…she couldn't tell him…but she would probably need help…

Downstairs the cuckoo clock cuckooed six as Cecilia pulled on Remus's thin tartan dressing gown before opening the door and, as she made her way down stairs she began to estimate what she could get done before he awoke, for while she wanted to work, she liked to spend as many hours as she could with Remus during the daylight hours at his time of the month…

It wasn't until Cecilia reached the bottom of the staircase, yawning as her bare feet registered the thin carpet beneath and ruffling her hair sleepily that she realised that she was being watched.

"Morning, beautiful," grinned Sirius, swinging himself into a sitting position on the large brown and green cord sofa and smiled widely at her. It was clear to Cecilia that he must have been watching her descend…

"Oh, very funny," Cecilia smiled back, hoping the sarcasm in her voice was enough to hide the uncomfortable feeling that was beginning to well in her stomach and she pulled the belt of the dressing gown tighter round her waist. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Well, good morning," repeated Sirius, pulling himself forward on the sofa and ruffling his messy dark hair into a messier style and Cecilia felt herself begin to blush at his unexpected presence in her living room. "I hope the stairs here haven't suffered from your elephantine impressions," he added, folding his arms behind his head and continuing to grin.

"Wh – " Cecilia began, confusion and outrage vying for prime emotion as her subconscious rewound to her time with him at the Shrieking Shack on the night of Voldermort's return and she felt herself tense.

"Don't forget, I carried you a mile back to Hogwarts a few months ago," he added, watching her face grow redder in embarrassment. "I should know," he added cheekily.

"A valid comment," replied Cecilia, determined to wrest control of the conversation from Sirius, who appeared to be endeavouring to wind her up for some reason. "Remus is still asleep," she added, glancing up the stairs and back towards their bedroom door, "do you want me to wake him?" Putting a hand on the end of the staircase Cecilia made to return back upstairs, but Sirius shook his head.

"No, let him sleep," replied Sirius, smiling back at Cecilia. "Last night, we – "

"Don't tell me," interrupted Cecilia quickly. "Whatever you got up to, I'm sure I don't want to know." She took a step towards Sirius. "But I am very glad you were with him," she added, smiling gratefully.

"And did you see the lunar eclipse?" she added, walking past Sirius and towards the kitchen. "They mentioned it on the radio; they said it was the middle of the night. Any good?"

"Spectacular," replied Sirius dolefully as he got to his feet and followed Cecilia into the kitchen, holding open the wood-panelled door, propping it open with his arm and he watched her make her way towards the stove as he stood in the doorframe. "Glowed deep red."

"Yes," continued Cecilia, pulling the belt of the dressing gown tighter again and ignoring the coldness of the flagstone floor on her feet. "The red's from the interaction with earth's atmosphere, where the light of the moon bounces off the earth. From the ionosphere – " Cecilia broke off when she noticed Sirius's expression.

"Nothing changes, Cecilia," he laughed, shaking his head. "You haven't changed…"

"I have, Sirius," she replied, filling up the copper kettle with water from the single water tap that stood tall above the sink by the window. "I'm to be a respectable married woman again; no more cloak and dagger stuff for me. Remus needs me, and – " she broke off as Sirius smiled again and this time she smiled too.

"Let me help you with breakfast," replied Sirius, stepping into the kitchen and letting the door swing closed behind him as he withdrew his wand.

"Okay," she replied, her shoulders sagging in concession as he paced across the floor towards her, "but we're making it the muggle way, okay?" Stepping towards the larder, Cecilia made to retrieve the ingredients she needed.

"What are you making?" Sirius held the door open for her as she ferried the eggs, bacon and sausages from a small cool box, a tin of Heinz beans and a loaf of bread back to the work surface.

"Thanks," Cecilia nodded as he rescued the tin of beans from her loosening grip. "Cooked breakfast. He really does like it when he wakes up at this time of the month."

Sirius nodded again; nothing much had changed with Remus then; he was always ravenous after an episode and, according to his friend she had found this out by complete accident.

"This came for you," he added, pulling out a letter from his cloak. He frowned as Cecilia pursed her lips before opening the kitchen's sash window and pointing into the blustery breeze that was bouncing around outside.

"Drop it out there," she said, backing away slightly as if it were about to bite. "A ministry letter," she added and comprehension flooded Sirius's face as he strode towards the window and let it flutter off.

"And another one," he added to Cecilia's retreating back as he glanced at a snowy owl that had perched itself on the window ledge. "Looks like Hedwig," he added, untying the letter and tossing it onto the worktop before leaning out and caressing the bird's feathers. Cecilia turned and walked back over to Sirius, and he glanced between her and the letter.

"Hermione," she said vaguely as she popped open the envelope and glanced over her reply. As if the girl didn't have enough to do with her OWLs almost upon her that she could reply to Cecilia a day after she had returned the next set of challenges to her via Snape. She continued to read, walking back towards the stove and was only interrupted with the flapping of wings from outside the window.

"So, are you doing breakfast?" asked Sirius, closing the window once Harry's owl had departed and Cecilia looked at him, frowning.

"What are you doing here, Sirius? I'm sure it's not just because of my culinary skills." Cecilia pushed Hermione's letter into Remus's dressing gown pocket and reached under the sink and handed Sirius a frying pan and she tried not to let her defensiveness show in her voice as Sirius hopped off the worktop taking it from her and grinning, lazily.

"On the contrary; I feel magic-prepared breakfasts are far superior…" his expression softened. "You seem to be coping here well," he added, glancing round the kitchen. "Good that Remus's grandmother was a muggle-born else you might have been a bit stuck."

"I'm sure I would have coped," replied Cecilia, opening up a pack of sausages before handing them to Sirius. "You do what you can to survive." To Cecilia's astonishment, Sirius lowered his head and nodded slowly.

"…all shut up after friends and family are gone, doing what you need to survive…" He placed the pan on the iron grid on the stove, taking the sunflower oil that Cecilia was holding.

"I chose to be here, and I'm free to do as I wish; not like you were. I have to admit Sirius, I would not have liked to be you…" Cecilia smiled kindly, and Sirius smiled back.

"I spoke to Snape last night about the wolfsbane and that you'd asked him to make it," he nodded, warming up the oil in the pan by waving his hand across it as Cecilia turned to get the bacon. Cecilia turned back and handed it to him, smiling.

"So, you and Severus…" she prompted, before reaching down to light the elderly grill that resided underneath the stove's hob before handing Sirius a spatula with which to turn the sausages.

"We appear to have found some common ground, we have you to thank for that," he finished, smiling at her and Cecilia felt herself blush like a teenager. "For everything. It's a shame you decided not to go to the meeting last night," he added as she placed the kettle on the stove.

"I get the feeling Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to get through as much of the agenda if I were there," she replied, a slight bitterness entering her voice and she noticed Sirius's expression change into one of incomprehension. "A bit like a china doll you don't want to break," she added, staring pointedly at Sirius and pausing in her task of setting the crockery for the tea. "Like I was allowed to come away with Remus here because of my remoteness." Cecilia looked away and at the set of plastic set of flying seagulls that appeared to have been adhered to the wall decades ago. "My work is valuable…"

"And so are you…there's more than one person who would have died if you hadn't pulled through…" Cecilia stopped dead as she felt his words in her left ear. No, not in her left ear…it was as if his words had appeared in her mind without having to go through the inconvenient process of passing through her ears. Cecilia turned quickly and, as she did so, Sirius looked up from the frying pan and smiled at her.

"Sorry?" Cecilia shook her head, as if trying to dislodge an errant bee that had meandered into her ear and looked at Sirius in confusion.

"I said, are these done? I can't tell you know, because someone told me we had to cook this the muggle way…" He took a step back as Cecilia glanced between him and the sausages.

"Yes," she nodded. "Now, put them on one of those plates, and then in the oven. Then, put some more oil in the pan for the bacon." Sirius glanced at her before doing what she said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We could saved all this trouble by letting me magick the breakfast," he grumbled as he opened the oven to slide in the plate. "If I were you I'd just wait until Remus got home and get him to do the jobs, Cecilia. It'd be less of a strain, and you'd be able to spend more time on your research…" Cecilia turned from watching the steam curl from the kettle's short spout and looked at him in horror.

"And why should I do that when I can do it just as easily? I might be magic-less but I'm not useless. Remus has got a lot to do and…"

"…you're not a china doll," finished Sirius, glancing at her sideways. "Here just doesn't seem like your scene, Cecilia," he added and Cecilia put down the kettle that had just boiled that she was about to pour into an old-fashioned stainless steel teapot heavily onto the iron grid above the stove.

"Sirius, I would be anywhere if I was with him. I wouldn't care if here was the back of beyond, or if we were living on the streets…I love him! I'd do anything for him! Go with him anywhere!" Cecilia fell silent almost immediately when she realised she had spoken the words very loudly, but folded her arms defensively, wondering vaguely how she was going to do what she needed for him, what he needed above all else…

"I know," Sirius replied softly, touching her gently on her left arm. "Moony feels the same. He told me last night. But he is protective of you; I don't think you'll deter that in him. It's his condition," he qualified sheepishly. Cecilia nodded slowly before turning from Sirius and pouring the tea.

"So," Sirius continued conversationally as the bacon in the frying pan crackled and spat, "are you missing Hogwarts? Are you wishing you were back there, or happy to be away?"

"It'd be useful to be there," replied Cecilia carefully, filling up the teapot with boiling water before putting the rest of the boiling water into a small pan. "And I do miss teaching. But I'm happy here. I'm with Remus here, Sirius. That's where I belong…"

The conversation drifted off and between them there was silence for quite a long time. Inspired by the fate of the sausages Sirius plated up the bacon rashers and put them into the oven before locating the cutlery in a nearby drawer and laid two places on the table. To her pan of now boiling water, Cecilia added vinegar before poaching six eggs watching the pan idly until they were almost cooked. It was at that precise moment she realised she hadn't cooked the baked beans.

"You are right, of course," Sirius said, recrossing the kitchen floor and taking the pan of beans from her before waving his hand over the beans and ignoring her look of indignation as steam began to rise from within. "I didn't really stop here for the breakfast, lovely that it undoubtedly will be…"

From the oven he removed the bacon and sausages before plating up the three breakfasts using magic again and ignoring Cecilia's silent protest which melted into a feeling of defeat as he flew two of the plates over to the kitchen table before doing the same with two cups of tea. When they were seated and eating their breakfasts, made half-muggle and half-wizard ways Sirius continued to clarify what he had said.

"I need your opinion about something," he continued as he took a sip of tea and Cecilia noticed that his expression and voice contained no trace of humour or joking. Indeed she doubted whether she had seen Sirius look so serious before.

"Okay," Cecilia continued, filling in the empty space. "I'll give you my true scientific opinion…"

"Will you?" Sirius dropped his fork that he was about to tackle one of the poached eggs with and it came down with a clatter onto the wooden table in surprise before wearing a mildly embarrassed look. "I mean, excellent, that's what I was looking for..."

"Sirius, you can talk to me about anything," Cecilia reassured him, passing him back his fork. "And I'll try to discuss science with you, if you like.

And Sirius began to tell Cecilia, slowly and awkwardly, about his brother, about what he thought had happened to him when he died and the reason why Voldermort was not completely defeated on the night he chose to return, a narrative which, if Cecilia were to be any judge, had been preying on his mind for a good time

"…I am convinced this is the reason Voldermort survived, which he shouldn't have done, according to Snape, with the potion for Harry, even if it wasn't exact…"

"Have you discussed this with Severus?" Cecilia asked, and Sirius shook his head.

"We're far better than we were, but not that close. I've told no-one. Not even Remus. It sounds mad…ridiculous…even when think about it myself." Sirius pushed away his plate, his breakfast half-finished but, by the sound of his voice Cecilia could tell he was too wound up to eat and it took a good twenty minutes for Sirius to explain to her each individual point in case she wasn't clear.

…and from what Sirius was telling her seemed to go like this…

…Regulus, Sirius's brother, had attempted to contact him when he realised his mistake over Henrietta; that Sirius hadn't been literal in his meaning of wishing to remove her from his life. He tried to make amends with Sirius and vowed to break off all contact with Voldermort and return to a good life. But unfortunately, the vow he had taken to serve Voldermort somehow alerted the terrible wizard to Regulus's betrayal and he tracked him down, tortured and killed him…

…well, almost killed him; Voldermort attempted murder of Regulus Black was interrupted by the arrival of ministry Aurors who Sirius had alerted, having told them of his brother's crimes and his remorse…

…interrupting Voldermort the wizard fled and the Aurors took Regulus into custody and he survived long enough to confirm what Sirius had told them…

"…and when prisoners die in custody, assuming they aren't in Azkaban, their soul becomes the ministry's property…" Sirius continued to look urgently at Cecilia, holding her gaze fiercely as he spoke. "Their memories are kept for all time in the Ministry building! But what if…what if…Voldermort left a bit of his soul in Regulus for protection, knowing that, if he were taken by the ministry he would never be defeated, no matter what we did? That's horcruxes…"

"Horcruxes?" asked Cecilia, confused, folding her arms in front of her.

"Dark magic. When a wizard – " Sirius broke off, ruffling his hair distractedly as Cecilia stared at him expectantly and he sighed outwardly.

"…when a wizard breaks up his soul and transfers it to another," he exhaled unwillingly, leaning forward. "The object he puts it into is a horcrux. But it's the worst dark magic of all, despite being highly dangerous! It's complicated magic, very complicated. The last wizard to do it lived almost a thousand years ago…the last wizard to do it…" Sirius broke off, turning from Cecilia and shook his head.

"You think that Regulus is a…horcrux? That Voldermort put a bit of his soul into your brother?" Cecilia could tell when Sirius returned his gaze to her that this was exactly what he thought."

"Is it possible? Could this be right?" He looked desperately at Cecilia as if his elation or desolation depended on her opinion. She put her hand on his, which was still holding the fork and she was sure she felt him trembling.

"…if that's how the magic works…" she said softly. "I…er…I would have to consider what it means in terms of science…" Cecilia looked down as Sirius pulled his hand from under hers and made to get up.

"…however, if it happens, there will be a scientific explanation," Cecilia continued. "But why do you need to know?" Sirius stopped and looked back at her.

"Y…you believe me? You don't think it's nonsense?" Cecilia found herself shaking her head slowly. If she was prepared to accept that magic existed, a greater leap of cognition indeed, then believing the soul could be divided up was barely a flicker on the understand-o-meter. Sirius sat back down and stared at her intently again.

"Is it possible…" Sirius's voice sounded much quieter now, its tone married hope with beseeching and his amplitude was almost nothing, "…for you to find out? You're the great Cecilia Frobisher…who found the Universal Link…if anyone can help me find out about this, it's you…"

Cecilia swallowed. What was it he was asking her to do? Decide whether this theory was explainable by science?

"…yes…say if it's possible…"

The words appeared in Cecilia's mind again…but she had been looking at Sirius, and he hadn't said anything…

"I'll do what I can, Sirius. It sounds logical to me, from what you tell me. I can – " She broke off as Sirius took her right hand, holding it firmly between both of his own.

"Only, I don't want you to tell Remus that I asked you," he continued, earnestly. Cecilia nodded as a thought drifted into her mind…

"…nor you…" The words formed in her mouth and she spoke them without meaning to. But once she had, registering Sirius's confusion, Cecilia knew it was the right thing to have done, and she got to her feet.

"Nor you," she repeated, bolder now as her other plan began to take shape in her mind, with a firm, though flexible structure where hitherto there had just been grey mist. "I cannot raise his hopes only to fail. It would be too cruel…" Cecilia got to her feet, collecting up the unfinished breakfasts together and she felt their weight be removed from her hands Sirius waved his hands before her, making the plates fly across the kitchen again, as they had done when the food was freshly cooked, before depositing them into the sink.

"Now," he said, looking at Cecilia firmly, "tell me again. What is it that you don't want Moony to know?"

And so Cecilia outlined her theory with respect to her cure for Remus's lycanthropy and Sirius listened, wearing much the same expression of incredulous anticipation, pausing only nod in certain places as she paused, waiting for his input.

"I'll do what I can, but to be honest, you know everything," said Sirius, circumventing the inconvenient information that had caused Remus to suffer so horrifically the evening before and he took her hand again, shaking it again.

"Thank you," he reiterated, getting to his feet. Cecilia smiled warmly as he took her hand again, shaking it again. She had told Sirius all of her plan, with the exception of the existence of the loose pages inside her own book. She needed information from Sirius, nothing more…she needed to find the cure herself, without complications and she had a feeling that Sirius would want to get more actively involved if she shared everything. Besides, someone had left her the information, knowing what she could use it for…

"Well, you seem much happier than you did earlier," commented Cecilia, picking up her now-cold cup of tea as Sirius let go of her hand and she made her way towards the sink. "At least that's one of my visitors over the last two days…"

"Oh. Snape," replied Sirius, following with his own cup and placing it in the sink with hers and the breakfast plates. "The wolfsbane," he added, smiling a little. Cecilia nodded.

"Yes," she agreed, folding her arms and leaning against the work surface. "He told me he thinks I'm not happy here and I'd be better off at Hogwarts…" At Sirius's raised eyebrows, Cecilia laughed lightly.

"Of course, it would make sense to work on the potion together…"

"…and you?" At Sirius's question, Cecilia turned and looked out of the window, turning on the tap and letting the cold water run onto the plates, crockery and cutlery.

"Well," replied Cecilia, glancing at Sirius quickly before looking back at the washing up. "As I said, my place is here, for now…" She broke off as Sirius waved his hand over the surface of the water and shot him a look as the water became warmer to her touch, "…you're helping with the washing up, are you?" she added sharply.

"You know he's not happy about you and Snape," Sirius added, handing her the wooden washing-up brush that lay to the right of the draining board before taking the washing up liquid and squirting a blob into the warm water. "Very territorial, comes with the condition…"

"I love Remus, Sirius. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him!" Her volume began to grow as her emotion began to get the better of her. "If he wants me to stop talking to Severus, or stop doing anything for that matter then I will. I would do anything for him Sirius, and that's not just me saying it. I mean it! I would die for him…!" Cecilia realised she was holding her hands in the air and soapy warm water was dripping down her arms, trickling into her armpits and making its way down her body and she frowned, annoyed, as Sirius began to laugh.

"There's no need to be that extreme," he chuckled, taking the washing-up brush from her hand and standing before the sink and Cecilia felt her ire begin to fade as quickly as it rose as she watched him wash up the breakfast things without magic.

"I'm glad you were there for him last night, Sirius," she said, as he stacked the blue-and-white cups and saucers neatly on the draining board before continuing onto the cutlery. "I expect the Order meeting did him good…"

"…did us all good," replied Sirius, conversationally. "We haven't seen each other since the Great Battle. I nipped back just before you got up and there was still some wizards there, catching up. Must have been there all night…you all right?"

"What?" asked Cecilia, stifling another yawn. "Oh. Nothing. Just me being tired. I don't sleep well when he's out." Sirius glanced at her quickly, a thought along the lines of her looking okay to him when he'd seen her that morning popped into his head, but he said nothing, polishing the last of the cutlery furiously with the tea towel that hung next to the sink.

"Right," continued Sirius, a few moments later. "I've got to get off. Better see if any of the Order are still there. Can you tell him goodbye for me?" Cecilia nodded and felt herself blush as he kissed her on the cheek before taking a step back and disapparating.

With another yawn, Cecilia looked around at her tidy kitchen, clean as if she had created Remus's now-cold breakfast herself by magic, before picking up the plate of food and cup and saucer and making her way through the kitchen and upstairs, trying not to spill anything as the cuckoo clock informed her cerebellum that it was now eight o'clock.

Placing Remus's breakfast on his bedside table, and shutting down the sash window halfway Cecilia made up for her lack of rest by slipping between the cool covers and drifting back off to sleep.

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In the upstairs bedroom of a small terraced house not ten miles up the coast from the New Calder Hall Power Station, a young witch turned over under the black and white duvet, rubbing her eyes before glancing sleepily at her wonderful boyfriend. Yawning, Tonks wondered what it was that Nick actually had planned for her that day which had meant that she needed to stop over the night before.

Not that she had to make excuses to herself to stay overnight with Nick Smith in his house at St. Bees; these days more often than not Tonks found herself flooing to work from his house rather than from home, though the official line to her mother was that she was staying with Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

Stretching lazily, Tonks marvelled at the exciting new pursuit with Nick, which they were going to undertake that very morning. It was cool; when Nick went to work she'd metamorphose into an employee and he would take her into work, explaining as best as he could about genetics and science.

To be honest Tonks hadn't much of clue how it worked, but nevertheless it was fun to go there, watching how muggles did things, their habits and peculiarities and it made her feel happy that they were both into each other.

Jumping out of bed, Tonks drew back the curtains, letting the Saturday morning sunlight stream into the small bedroom, the sun glinting off the Irish Sea and she subconsciously changed the hue of her hair to match it.

As the sunlight trickled in, Nick Smith turned in his sleep, before opening his eyes and holding one arm across his face.

"Close the curtains, Tracy, and come back to bed," he insisted sleepily, squinting at his girlfriend into the mid-morning sun. "It's far too early; only eight o'clock!"

"Okay!" she said enthusiastically, throwing the curtains closed and she hurried across the carpet and bounced on the bed like an excited Labrador puppy, smiling at her nickname. Despite knowing nearly everything about her, Nick still called Tonks Tracy because of their first meeting back in October, where Tonks had been Cecilia's guard when she had turned up at his work and she'd told him that was her name.

"What are we doing today? Where are we going? What are we seeing? Do you still want to floo in?" At the juncture of each of her questions Tonks bounced on the bed excitedly. Nick turned, and smiled slowly.

"Something special," he said slowly, pulling her closer to him. "Really special…you know those pictures I gave you?" Tonks nodded, her hair changing colour seemingly at random.

"Something to do with them," he confirmed unhelpfully, and caught Tonks's hand as she made for a playful thump, returning it with a tickle.

"I can't believe Cecilia kept all this from me; I would have been able sort this lot out in a second for her," Nick continued as Tonks's giggles subsided, a few moments later. "She seems very happy with Remus…"

"I would be more upset about my family and friends," said Tonks, her tone changing from light playfulness to sobriety and she looked across to Nick as he held her in his arms.

"She is," he replied wistfully, "in her own way. Now," he added, changing the subject sharply, "we don't have to leave for another hour, if we're flooing…" he leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead, "…any ideas, Tracy Tonks, as to how we could spend the time…unprofitably…?"

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	6. The Grand Wizengamot

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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The premises for Ministry of Magic in Great Britain is located under the main streets of London, where Garrick Street becomes Bedford Street, in the space between the pavement and the Underground network. Indistinguishable to muggles and even, on occasions, to those of the magical persuasion, its actual physical dimensions are unfathomable for, while the seemingly miles of corridors, floors and departments span a vast physical area the actual space it occupies in real terms is next to nothing. Perhaps then, this is why it is the location for the Ministry of Magic and also why stupid authors shouldn't try to reason its existence.

Nevertheless, its dimensions and size become more pertinent when we examine the location of an event which has not been held internationally for almost five hundred years and never on British wizarding soil. So significant the event, so potentially far-reaching its consequences and yet so subtle in its existence to the ignorant bustling crowds of muggles and wizards eight feet (and at the same time three miles) above the nature of the event has been kept, up until now, a secret to all but a few key wizards who will take a prime role in the establishment of a conclusion.

Even the term "event" to describe the secret proceedings that are just about to unfold on this bright Saturday morning belittles its significance for whatever is decided by the International Confederation of Wizards in a Full Trial…its word is final and unconditional…immovable…and carried out to the letter.

Usually such trials whose outcomes are irretractable are carried out when magical ministries in any country feel that sweeping changes are an immediate necessity in order to implement swift legal and often controversial changes in the guise of civil protection by hand-picked Interrogators and officials. Who's to say today's would be any different? To quote a very wise sorcerer, just because it is _legal_, doesn't make it _right_.

The results of this particular Full Trial will, though unknowingly, permeate the lives of each and every person you have come across so far; Harry, at school with his friends Ron and Hermione; Minerva McGonagall, striding the halls and corridors of Hogwarts briskly if not slightly panicky; Hagrid in his hut, making a drink from what was once a teabag (and is now a paper-tea-leaf mush) and cauldron-boiled water. The conclusions will pervade the steel-hard exteriors of one or two of our less-loved characters from a certain school house (one with the emblem not dissimilar to a lizard without legs) and their lives too will be affected, although not quite in the same way as the rest.

And of course, those closest to the main subject of the Trial; those intimately connected to her…those whose lives have been affected, either good or ill by her actions...those whose futures interlink and intertwine closely with hers…it is those wizards who will be most affected…

88888888

The vast chamber, lit by thousands of standard candles arranged in clusters for maximum effect displayed the receding banks of empty pews which, though empty, appeared to be filled with Atmosphere. Not atmosphere, as in the mere ratios of volatile and inert gases that make up the air, but Atmosphere, as if thousands of absent spectators were sitting perched on the edges of their seats eagerly waiting for the main protagonists to take their places.

Amongst those seated, apart from Ministry representatives and the Minister himself, smoothing his long white beard and perched in the main chair suspended high above them all was a small, unassuming and very elderly wizard who appeared to have a small flower tucked inside the brim of his official-looking blue wizard's hat. One or two of the representatives, sitting in the seats usually occupied by the prosecution in a criminal trial exchanged glances as Pierre Bonaccord flattened the flower's petals absently against the intersecting "M" and "W" which were embroidered on his hat as he perused the notes that had been thrust before him only moments ago.

A small cough reverberated around the chamber arising, it would appear, from the Ministry section and Albus Dumbledore, seated on in the centre of the chamber on a gold, high-backed chair looked across at Cornelius Fudge whose exasperated face of moments ago slid to ignorance as he began to take a keen interest in Bonaccord's literary discourse of the case in hand.

"…so, what you're trying to tell me Fudge, is that you've brought me out of retirement…out of _fifty years_ of retirement in order to preside over the very wizard who succeeded me? Hm…? Albus Dumbledore…?"

From his chair, which looked far too large to accommodate him appropriately, Bonaccord looked at Fudge over his large spectacles, gesturing with his right hand at Dumbledore while casting a scathing look at the Minister. Fudge shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ignoring the muttering that had begun around him as the Ministry representatives began to whisper uncertainly.

"With respect, hm-hm, ex-Supreme Mugwump," continued Fudge, every effort focused on keeping his voice firm and steady, "with the situation that we have here, and having already heard from the Chief Warlock himself that the Wizengamot of Great Britain cannot – _regrettably _– hear evidence on the matter – " he glanced hurriedly at his deputy Algernon Gandy for self-assurance, " - this is why you have been called upon today. Albus Dumbledore – " here, Fudge's eyes flicked momentarily onto Dumbledore who was still sitting as serenely as he had done half an hour ago on the chair in the centre of the chamber before releasing a humouring smile as he continued " – his role of Supreme Mugwump has been suspended, for clearly he cannot preside over his own trial."

Around him, some of Ministry representatives nodded in silent agreement with Cornelius Fudge, though some more animatedly than others. Those who were remaining reserved simply sat arms folded and observant, uncomfortable at their own presence at the event and feeling that they would rather be a few thousand miles away taming dragons or something else less potent than sitting in a trial where Albus Dumbledore, most respected wizard was to be brought into severe line by their ostentatious superior.

"…yes, yes," continued Bonaccord, waving his hand towards the Ministry representatives and listening as those who were whispering fall silent. "Indeed. All right, very well. Hmph," he exhaled, shuffling on the seat and Fudge cast another look towards Dumbledore as his predecessor muttered something about rights for trolls and the minister waited with veiled impatience for Bonaccord to direct the start of the trial. He didn't have to wait long and he watched as the tiny wizard climbed to his feet and apparated himself to a standing position on his chair. All eyes in the courtroom looked upon him, recognising that the beginning of the trial was imminent and they watched him survey the entire courtroom omnisciently.

"As appointed President and Honorary Supreme Mugwump, I hereby call to order…" as he spoke, a door near the back of the Ministry representatives opened and another joined the mass. Tabitha Penwright had not intended to miss the beginning of the trial but had been delayed in her return to the Ministry following her visit home because of the heavy security in place and she had just spent an hour negotiating with a security wizard to allow her access. As she shuffled slowly through the now-standing throng of her colleagues towards Dolores Umbridge Tabitha's gaze focused immediately on the Supreme Mugwump's opening words, hoping that no-one would notice her tardy timekeeping.

"…state the context nice and clearly, Fudge, for the Interrogators…" Bonaccord gestured to a dozen high-status witches and wizards dressed in plum coloured robes with silver intersecting "I" and "W" on the sleeve which glittered in the lamplight. Tabitha, as with the rest of the wizards around her looked the wizards, chosen from the International Wizengamot to act as jurors in the Trial. Next to her, Tabitha realised that Dolores Umbridge had become aware that she had arrived, and had chosen to express her awareness by casting her a scolding glance. Immediately Tabitha felt her head duck lower but before Umbridge had a chance to follow through her disapproval with words, she noticed her superior's attention had been drawn to the Supreme Mugwump's chair again and, more importantly, to the Supreme Mugwump himself and she too looked in his direction.

"We will start with the crime that Dumbledore here has been accused of...er…hm…" at a loss he looked down at the usher of the court, a slight witch with a pinched nose and round spectacles who began to read from a parchment scroll that appeared in her hands. She looked vaguely at it for a moment before glancing back at Dumbledore. Around her, Tabitha felt the wizards around her focus on the trial again as those around her strained forward to be sure of catching all the words that the witch was about to declare and, as she did so it seemed to Tabitha as if the members of the Wizengamot full guard that were surrounding Dumbledore had, as one, taken a hasty step back.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore you have been accused…" began the usher as she held the parchment firmly at arms' length and silence reigned momentarily as the usher's clear crisp voice rang out and the echoes of her statements reverberated around the vast chamber, "…of High Wizardly Treason. For presiding over a subversive group of wizards and for engaging in illicit and unauthorised muggle-wizard relations. For bringing danger to the students in your care; for knowingly and wilfully exposing them to unsubstantiated and untested teachings. For being a Reciprocator."

When she had finished, the court usher looked up, glanced at Dumbledore before looking back at the Supreme Mugwump. It was his turn, Tabitha knew, to continue the trial, mediating the prosecution and defence until the issues had been heard and all was evident for the Interrogators to discuss. Then the Supreme Mugwump would consider their verdict before passing an irrevocable, final judgment. Not dissimilar to muggle courts, Tabitha recalled as her mind dug up a conversation she had had with her brother who had made it his solemn duty since her shame of being a witch was discovered to educate her in the ways of the real world.

But before Tabitha could remember further memories of her brother however, her attention was drawn to the Full Trial again: the Supreme Mugwump was not directing the trial and instead the focus was brought to the defendant: Dumbledore was chuckling quietly to himself. For a good few minutes the only thing that could be heard in the courtroom was the wizard's expressive laughter which eventually died away to nothing as the look of shocked annoyance grew to silent anger on Cornelius Fudge's face. Bonaccord however looked impassive. Eventually Dumbledore spoke.

"I apologise for my mirth, Supereme Mugwump however it is of utmost curiosity that I stand before you today on a charge of Reciprocation under the laws of the British Ministry of Magic when – he-hm – this government thought reciprocators to be a joke not so long ago…" Dumbledore broke off at the hasty coughing coming from Fudge's vicinity and, glancing pointedly at the minister returned his attention to Bonaccord before getting to his feet.

"May I refer you to the information given, Supreme Mugwump, by Brunella Rand in the European Wizengamot in 1989 when she declared that the advancements achieved by muggles in the town of Heimholtz could have come about through Reciprocation? Something which the minister hastily dismissed?"

Like the spectators at a tennis match the representatives of the Ministry, the Interrogators and even Bonaccord himself began to look between the two wizards as a non-verbal volley was beginning to swing into action. All eyes were on Fudge now, waiting for him to respond. They didn't have to wait long: Cornelius Fudge had got to his feet, trying to resist the urge to fold his arms defensively and turned to the Supreme Mugwump.

"You see, Bonaccord, _you see_? Even under the gravity of a Full Trial he is not taking this seriously…"

"You were Minister in 1989, were you not, Minister Fudge?" asked the Prime Inquisitor, a middle-aged witch with a Germanic accent got to her feet and pushed back a few stray brown hairs from her face. "Might you describe to the court, Minister Fudge your verdict of the Heimholtz case?"

"…well, I might have said she was silly…"

"…'Fraulein Rand is stark staring bonkers' I believe you declared," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Yes yes yes!" boomed Fudge dismissively. "But this has nothing to do with the case before you here today, Supreme Mugwump." At Fudge's words, Pierre Bonaccord nodded before turning to the defendant, who was still standing in the court and still wore a smile of serenity.

"Of the charges brought against you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how do you plead?"

Around them, the low muttering of the Ministry representatives died back to nothing and the watched in wrapt awe as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore got to his feet, turning slowly to the usher of the court, who had directed the question to him. Under his gaze the usher returned an expression of impassive cool- and collectedness and she waited for Dumbledore to reply, anticipating his words patiently before faithfully recording them on the official parchment that hung before her, quill aloft.

"Of being a Reciprocator…I am guilty." He nodded slightly towards Bonaccord. "Of the other charges – " he cast a wry glance towards Fudge before returning to Bonaccord, " – I cannot be for, when the accused pleads that they are done for the good of wizardkind, they are not recognised under the British Wizarding Law …"

A switch flicked in the back of Tabitha's mind. Of course. Of course Dumbledore would say this; hadn't Dolores mentioned that he would mention something like that? Not like those were her exact word though, thought Tabitha, as she watched her boss get to her feet at almost exactly the same time as Cornelius Fudge, More like –

" – a flimsy excuse; like I said!" whispered Dolores Umbridge furiously in her descent heavily downwards next to Tabitha. "Just wait till Cornelius…I mean Minister Fudge, of course, has his say – "

Smiling politely at nobody in particular Tabitha turned consciously to stare at a patch on the floor, patently aware of the events that were continuing around her. She could feel the indignation that was irradiating as strongly from Umbridge as the mortification from Minister Fudge – the Supreme Mugwump for the trial had silenced the Minister for Magic and requested him to take his seat. Only when the muffled uncertainty from those wizards around her had died down and Pierre Bonaccord had begun to speak did she dare re-engage with the proceedings, looking up at the tiny wizard who was staring intently at the accused.

"And are you claiming this, Dumbledore?" Bonaccord asked, voicing the unspoken question of probably all assembled. Heads of both the Ministry representatives and the Interrogators turned in kind to look at the suspended headmaster of Hogwarts School.

"Indeed, Supreme Mugwump," Albus Dumbledore clarified, nodding deferentially at his predecessor. A snort came from the group of Ministry representatives, which Bonaccord (and Tabitha) patently ignored by the Supreme Mugwump (although for the latter it was far harder when the opposition had been expressed from her right-hand-side and she watched as her boss glanced loyally at _her_ boss; Fudge limiting his comment to pushing his spectacles up on to the bridge of his nose). Tabitha looked back to Bonaccord, who had not shifted his glance from the defendant.

"You are aware, Dumbledore, that in the same way that you are allowed to call or witnesses on defence and be represented by another in a National Wizengamot hearing so are you here in the International Wizengamot?"

"Indeed sir. I remember feeling most happy when I got that one passed…very fair, very fair…"

"Hm…" Bonaccord cast his eyes towards Fudge before returning them back to Dumbledore. "You wrote the laws under which you now stand accused," he continued in his high-pitched but orderly French accent, "so you know about them. Please could you summarise then, in what manner your believe your actions of, and preceding, the night of Lord Voldermort's return to be carried out for the good of wizardkind?"

"Certainly." Dumbledore nodded at Bonaccord, before turning to address the Inquisitors, looking across their three rows of four wizards each much as Tabitha had seen him do to much larger and younger audiences at Hogwarts, with similar results. Ignoring the downward glances and muted gasps that each of the distinguished officials had betrayed he continued.

"My actions were carried out primarily for the safety of Harry Potter and the dangers that surrounded him and indeed still do surround him…" He broke off again and glanced around the courtroom as a Mexican wave of whispers began to ripple around the assembled wizards as Harry's name was repeated several times in a low mumbling. From the bank of Ministry witnesses, from her place next to Tabitha, Umbridge got to her feet, casting an eye towards Dumbledore before turning with an expression of steely reason towards the Supreme Mugwump.

"Yes, we wondered when he would be dragged into this," she commented, pushing her pair of seaside-rock-pink framed spectacles up her nose as she examined the notes in front of her. Around them the courtroom fell silent and Tabitha began to pink slightly as the Inquisitors and the rest of the Ministry representatives stared dumbly in her direction. Not at _her_ though, for Dolores had managed to draw attention to herself all on her own, but it was because her interjection. It was highly unprecedented for anyone other than the prosecution or the Minister for Magic to address the Supreme Mugwump directly, even when he was present for homeland Wizengamot trials. Sit down, thought Tabitha desperately, please sit down…

And then Tabitha realised why her usually stickler-for-the-rules boss had disregarded a rather large convention, and why the rest of her colleagues were staring in their direction so intently…for under Dolores Umbridge's pink-trimmed official robes she was wearing her Undersecretary sash which had been embroidered with a bright pink P. Prosecution. Dolores was the prosecutor that Cornelius Fudge himself must have chosen. No wonder then, that she had expressed aloud her fervent disagreement to Dumbledore's earlier statements.

"You claim that in order to protect Harry Potter you entered into a Reciprocal relationship?!"

Peeling her eyes away from her boss, Tabitha's attention was drawn towards Dumbledore again.

"Well it would be very difficult for me to state otherwise, Madam Prosecutor, for my act of claiming Reciprocation from a muggle was entirely related to the rise and return of Lord Voldermort."

"I see," interjected Umbridge lightly. "And how do we know Voldermort was making a comeback on the night…when was it, February 24th?" She pushed her spectacles even further up her nose, which examining the parchment that she was holding.

"Other than the 27 eyewitnesses you mean?"

"Can you explain, Albus, said Bonaccord, glancing in the direction of the ministerial seats as Cornelius Fudge got to his feet; Dumbledore's responses were obviously not modest or humble enough to please him.

"Yes, I would like to hear about your eyewitnesses as well, Dumbledore," said Fudge, in an accusing tone.

"So would we all, for the benefit of the Ministry," echoed Umbridge shrilly, looking over her spectacles. "Especially if their number consists of several of our own staff ministerial staff meeting secretly with you…and an escapee from Azkaban…and a half breed…?"

Now all of the court was looking at Umbridge, contemplating her last statement which she had uttered in undisguised triumph. A myriad of conversations began around them; the wizards around Tabitha were clearly interested in the secret meetings and who these dangerous members might have been.

"You do not deny then that you have in your employ a half-breed?" roared Fudge over the din. At once, the Ministry representatives fell silent.

"Indeed I do not. Firenze the Centaur is a marvellous Astronomy teacher…"

"I DO NOT MEAN THE CENTAUR!" boomed Fudge, clearly annoyed at Dumbledore's apparent evasion of the point, "although employing half breeds of any kind is questionable. I am referring to – "

"You want to know about the meetings, well: I can assure everyone here that those in attendance were wizards who were met by and assisted your Aurors…and they are certainly not in my employ."

"They seemed very well informed," commented Umbridge, glancing at Fudge whose face was beginning to redden in badly-disguised outrage as she sat down heavily next to Tabitha.

"Indeed they are, most forthcoming were you to question them yourself; I wondered why you had not done so, Cornelius when you had suspicions they were not as they should be. Why were they not interrogated after the Great Battle?"

"It is not for the minister to have to answer questions!" Dolores Umbridge returned hastily to her feet, snapping the reminder of protocol at Dumbledore. "These meetings were illegal, as is the crime of employing half breeds for covert and seditious purposes!"

Dumbledore paused, looking towards Bonaccord's chair as he waited for the echoes of Umbridge's screeched retort to die away. Then he looked back at her, his voice calm and even.

"If I am to defend myself Madam, then I must protest. Meetings between wizards are certainly not illegal…no…" Dumbledore looked thoughtful, "otherwise the entire clientele of the Leaky Cauldron would surely be in Azkaban."

"It is illegal to meet to discuss treasonable things, and to plot subterfuge," replied Fudge hotly, glaring at Dumbledore and daring him to disagree. It would seem Dumbledore had taken the bet – he looked across at Umbridge, the Prosecution to whom, by rights, he should have been directing his defence, before looking back at Fudge.

"Is it illegal for a few old associates and friends to meet up on a regular social basis to discuss…politics…? Current affairs…? The state of the world? Illegal to share deep worries about the rise of an old evil?"

"Well, you will provide us with details of these meetings Dumbledore, especially the details of whom, or indeed what, were attending."

Tabitha watched as Dumbledore smoothed his beard in a way she remembered him doing when she was a student at Hogwarts, usually when he was about to announce something, like the feast, or that a house other than her own (Hufflepuff) had won the House cup, or that someone had mysteriously disappeared and whoever might have played a not-very-funny-now practical joke would be wise to own up now. Fudge however, looked on, resolute.

"That is something that I've already done, and it would appear that the scant evidence requested previously by Undersecretary Umbridge detailing the goings on at our tea parties up until February 24th was inadvertently destroyed by Ministry aurors when we fought Voldermort and the Death Eaters…"

Dumbledore's eyes flitted briefly to the now-lowering head of the chief auror, sitting three places away from Fudge. A whisper began and he nodded his head a couple of times without looking up and Fudge folded his arms in now-evident fury before sitting back down.

"Please continue, Dumbledore," prompted Bonaccord and gestured his hand towards him. Dumbledore nodded graciously.

"…however it is through these events that I admit, I coerced and persuade others to join my foolish attempt to fight Voldermort when I heard he was to arise. I also admit with reference to my defence: that the employment of the muggle Mrs Cecilia Frobisher was for the good of wizards and muggle wizard relations. She was the enticement, with her understanding of science, with which I intended to lure Lord Voldermort. Her discovery of the Universal Link was entirely a serendipitous event."

"You used the female muggle as bait?!" exclaimed Fudge incredulously.

"It was not set out to be, but as we did not know the manner of his return was going to be we knew he would be attracted if he became aware that we were using muggle science to mount an attack."

"I attest that the defendant is sidestepping the issue," declared Umbridge, a glint in her eye as she addressed the Supreme Mugwump. "We need to know details of these meetings!"

"Certainly, I can provide you with first hand recollections from my own memory if you will, Madam Prosecutor, however I am sure the Supreme Mugwump does not expect me to recall every single one right now…I believe they will prove a tad tedious…"

"But the legality…" began Umbridge, but she broke off as the Supreme Mugwump held up a hand.

"I am given to understand," he clarified, in his high-pitched voice, "that a society which deals in wizards socialising is not as yet against the law in Great Britain…" he turned to Dumbledore and continued, "…that will not be necessary, Dumbledore. Please take your seat, Undersecretary…" he added, casting a statuesque stare at Umbridge before glancing at the court usher, prompting confirmation of a name.

"Umbridge," clarified the court usher, staring firmly at her.

"Umbridge," finished Umbridge herself, sitting down firmly. Tabitha felt her exhale in annoyance as she sat next to her, an expression of frustration that Tabitha had heard many times (usually directed at her). Taking hold of the sleeve of Tabitha's best beige robe (Madam Emaness), she clenched it in her grip as she fanned herself with her court parchment theatrically. Fudge was going red in the face too, but unlike Umbridge had remained standing. When he spoke again, Tabitha realised he had changed to a different tack.

"It is in fact a duty to reveal all information to the court as requested," he continued, his voice slightly wavering now as he fought to keep it even, "however I choose to overlook it in favour of a swift resolution of this matter. Now, from what you said previously, regarding your engagement of the muggle – "

" – Mrs Frobisher,"

" – Mrs Frobisher – are we given to understand that you do not deny your role in breaking the law?"

"No indeed I do not deny it," confirmed Dumbledore, nodding slowly. I am the very last Reciprocator. I knowingly contacted a muggle, unknowing to our ways and disclosed the existence of our world to her. I then proceeded to allow her to investigate our world with the object of creating a weapon powerful enough to defeat Lord Voldermort." A wave of ferocious whispering echoed around the court again. Next to Tabitha, Umbridge pulled her closer.

"There. We have him!" she whispered gleefully, letting go of her robe. "He has admitted wrongdoing. Maybe now we will see some action against him." Tabitha nodded dutifully towards Umbridge as she looked around the court, her eyes drawn to the court usher who was waving her hands to indicate silence was required. Tabitha felt Umbridge about to leave her seat to continue with the prosecution but she sat back down quickly as Fudge continued to speak, his tone sombre now, invoking a grave atmosphere to descend upon the proceedings.

"I can recall the day that such a term was described in a court of law like this one here today where a wizard stood, describing the actions of a…Reciprocator…1956, the Goblin Riots," he added hastily, making sure it was clear to Bonaccord to which event he was referring. The Supreme Mugwump indicated his comprehension by nodded briefly.

"And you, Dumbledore, have the audacity to stand here and describe your revival of a role which was made illegal more than two hundred years ago and whose very existence has threatened the exposure and ruin of our world on more than one occasion!"

"Have Reciprocators ever brought about the terror and horror that Voldermort himself has wrought? Have they ever caused wanton destruction and death? In the spirit of Reciprocators both ancient and modern my actions have been only to stop the greatest threat that ever faced our world by employing a muggle to solve it – "

There was a pause, lasting for what seemed like a good hour (but in reality – whatever reality meant here – was probably only a minute or so. Eventually the Minister for Magic spoke.

"Am I given to understand that you believed a _muggle _could help defeat Lord Voldermort?" The lilt in Fudge's voice seemed to indicate utter incredulity. "It is the working together of muggles and wizards that brought about our divorce…_separation_ was caused through collaboration Dumbledore, rather than _unity_, or so I am led to believe by my team, whose services I have called upon in order to enrich my scant knowledge of such things. The differences between our races are many; any anthroporcerer could tell you such."

"This is why we had Reciprocators, Cornelius, in order for mutual benefit to both societies. For co-operation and sharing of information."

"This is one thing we don't need," scoffed Fudge, one hand leaning on the dark wooden railing from his position at the front of the Ministry area. "It is such liberty of information that caused a Wizengamot many centuries ago to outlaw such practices, and for a further court to reiterate the dangers to muggles of knowing this information. The 1956 Protection Act was brought about as a direct result of the actions of a so-called…Reciprocator. The muggle population was considered to be at risk."

"More at risk now, wouldn't you agree Cornelius, with the dangers that threaten us all? Would you have us not equip them to deal with their own protection? They are not animals…"

For a moment, Tabitha thought that the Minister had not heard him. Then she watched in horrified fascination as redness flooded his face and he exploded with rage, hardly able to speak.

"You –you are –are you challenging my authority, Dumbledore?" he managed, gripping the railing that he had so casually been caressing moments ago. "You…you…you claim…information has been lost by the Ministry: yes it has. But one thing we do know is that you caused other law-abiding wizards to break the law. However if you claim this collaboration was to aid muggle defence can you deny that one of your "associates and friends" with whom you collaborated was a werewolf?"

A collective gasp whooshed through the court, silenced quickly lest the spectators (the representatives were no longer there merely to witness, they were fully engaged with the drama of the unfolding trial) missed anything vital.

"Indeed I do not; the wizard of whom you speak is in full control of his actions by means of the wolfsbane potion. He is about as much of a danger to muggles than a hat stand."

"Then I believe it is about time that I informed you Dumbledore that under to the new security measures all half breeds, werewolves, vampires, giants, trolls and other such dangerous life-forms must register their existence with us formally. Those who have broken codes of practice to which they are bound will be interrogated and, if necessary, prosecuted…"

Tabitha knew he had gone too far. The smile of triumph that had originally played on his features had been replaced with one of surprise. Tabitha was aware that such a law was coming, but had no idea that it was already in force. The controversial Security Act. From what she had seen it was very bureaucratic and restrictive, far more so than would have been tolerated before February.

Around them the Ministry representatives were awoken from their restful stupor at the sound of the words, turning to one another and voicing the same question that Tabitha herself had posed. A few shouts began as one or two of them who were having difficulty in comprehending exactly what the minister had said were turning to him and Fudge turned to them, a smile of satisfaction lingering momentarily before he spoke.

"As of midnight yesterday the new security laws, for which you have been in possession of a draft copy, come into force regarding protection from dangers to wizarding communities…"

"…protection from half-breeds…" shouted someone.

"If there is no threat to us from You-Know-Who then why this law?"

"…dangerous life-forms…"

"There is no threat, but you know how people panic…"

"…anything that threatens our way of life…"

"…that's sensible…"

"…but did you read the draft, it says…"

"…no! Surely not…"

The chattering got louder, wizards around them bickering and arguing until finally Bonaccord had no alternative than to return to his position standing on his chair. His voice boomed around the courtroom as he pointed his wand to his throat.

"Silence!"

Around Tabitha wizards stopped abruptly, conversations left hanging in mid-sentence as the command from the highest legal ranking wizard in the world pierced their consciousnesses. Even the Inquisitors, who had not spoken amongst themselves, looked decidedly uncomfortable at the proceedings; the Prime Inquisitor looking about her furtively.

As the Supreme Mugwump's command echoed to nothing the Ministry wizards became inanimate, sitting back in their places without question and turning automatically back to the centre of the chamber. All but one. Umbridge got resolutely to her feet.

Smiling briefly at Bonaccord, she nodded towards the court usher flapping her notes so she could see it before glancing down the parchment.

"What was your reason for wanting Mrs Frobisher in particular in Hogwarts, Dumbledore?" Umbridge continued, as if Fudge's declaration of the Act of Ministry had not been divulged. "Was it her expertise as a muggle? A naïve attempt at offering choice and an all round balanced education to our young students? I mean of course, under normal circumstances your motives might be considered perfectly legitimate but surely you can see that your argument does not hold water if you claim that your prime interest was the protection of your students – the children – " here Umbridge looked at the Ministry representatives before turning back to Dumbledore " – in your care. But if that were the case then surely bringing dangerous thinking as well as dangerous events to their school was entirely the opposite of what you claim?"

"As too the new Security Act," replied Dumbledore looking at the Ministry representatives and nodding slowly. "That is indeed a contradiction in terms when those students and the wizard society it asserts to protect includes the non renewal of muggle permits, and a limit of time for those fortunate to have wizarding children…"

This time, thought Tabitha, it was Dumbledore who had gone too far. At the uproar that was now ensuing Fudge raised his hands, indicating he wanted quiet from his employees.

"Yes, yes…for _security_…" he continued, over the din, "…which is needed considering the actions of Albus Dumbledore, inviting in a muggle to our school, a place of vulnerable underage wizards…"

"I thought that it was wizards who were the danger to muggles," said Dumbledore quietly but Fudge ignored him and continued to address the Ministry wizards.

"Even now the Ministry is overstretched, with employees working tirelessly over lists in order to establish which muggles should know what, altering the damage that has been caused by Dumbledore's foolish actions. In light of the recent security changes and that Dumbledore has been holding meetings of a society composed of wizards to talk about heaven knows what…"

"…the ardent wish of my personal friends and colleagues is for the defence of our world and all we hold dear," replied Dumbledore, addressing Bonaccord, "which hopefully is still legal, under the new security measures…" Tabitha Penwright saw Dumbledore glance across to Bonaccord and she could have sworn the Supreme Mugwump nodded briefly. Then she looked back at the minister who appeared to have concluded that he had said enough on the matter of the Security act.

"The minister didn't say it wasn't, Dumbledore," said Umbridge, returning to her feet and glancing pityingly at Fudge. "We are getting off the point, Supreme Mugwump Bonaccord." Turning towards the defendant Umbridge pushed on.

"Is it, or is it not still illegal to knowingly set up a reciprocal relationship with a muggle?"

Murmurings began now from the Inquisitors, uncertain if her new direct approach was something that they agreed with but they had little time to deliberate as the Prosecutor forged ahead, addressing them now, rather than the Supreme Mugwump, Fudge or Dumbledore.

"Then I ask you, can we not proceed to what is to be done about it, rather than quibble about the legalities? Plainly and simply, Dumbledore has admitted to being a Reciprocator…"

This time, the mutterings that came from the Inquisitors seemed to Tabitha to be more in agreement with Umbridge.

"…then we need to hear full involvement of how the muggle in wizard affairs, Dumbledore."

Triumph. Tabitha could hear it in her superior's voice and she looked across at Bonaccord. Umbridge's forthright stance was clearly what the Supreme Mugwump was looking for. He nodded in Dumbledore's direction and waved a hand.

"Very well." Dumbledore got to his feet. "I employed Mrs Cecilia Jane Frobisher as a scientist. I instructed her to use science to investigate magic with the intent of developing a weapon to use against Lord Voldermort."

"And this was a ruse," promoted Umbridge.

"A what?"

"A ruse, a cover for her other work…" Umbridge folded her arms accusingly. Dumbledore smiled, in apparent comprehension.

"Oh yes, you mean the old muggle medicament that she developed…"

"You allowed her to teach our children – she is a muggle!" declared Umbridge crossly.

"And an excellent teacher she was too; I am sorry to lose her, but aside from her discovering the Universal Link I do have a very effective tincture for my chest."

"You allowed her enough freedom to find the so-called Universal Link!" blasted Fudge, from his hitherto silent position at the front of the court, erupting in a blaze of fury at Dumbledore's evasion of the point. "The connection muggles and wizards!"

"Yes," replied Dumbledore serenely. "During the process of finding my cough remedy; I'd tried everything magical and it was just no use and I recalled a cousin of my mother's talking about a time when he was a lad – "

"I hold it was not!" snapped back Umbridge, the notes in her hand quivering with unalloyed ire. "I hold it was some harebrained scheme involving Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…" A cough of surprise came from the Germanic witch from the Inquisitor bench as the court usher got to her feet. Umbridge fell silent.

"From many of these accounts it would appear that Mrs Frobisher attacked He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the guise of a Death Eater, having taken a highly concentrated dose of polyjuice potion which left her in a severe state of ill health."

As she spoke, from her position beneath the Supreme Mugwump's chair, all eyes were on Dumbledore, witches and wizards as one holding their collective breath as they awaited confirmation of the wildest story of all to come out of the last four months. Dumbledore looked at Bonaccord before looking round at the expressions of wrapt fascination and awe as the representatives of the British magical community waited. Eventually, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world spoke.

"It is true, Supreme Mugwump. Cecilia Frobisher did indeed face Voldermort with the objective of defeating him at great personal risk; a decision she made entirely alone." Dumbledore's words echoed around the chamber as the motionless atmosphere endured for what to Tabitha seemed like aeons: no-one spoke or moved as the sentence that they had all heard settled into consciousnesses.

"There, well that proves it!" declared Umbridge breaking the silence. From Tabitha's side the large witch got to her feet, gesturing her incredulity. "It's utter ridiculousness – a muggle attacking You-Know-Who? Ha! It wouldn't surprise me if it is all a figment of his imagination!"

From the rising noise of the Ministry representatives around them the debate began to be debated: could a _muggle_ seriously have challenged You-Know-Who? It sounded preposterous…

"Then it is also a figment of the imaginations of these wizards," said the court usher, summoning a towering pile of evidence into the empty space six inches above her hand, the papers higher up swaying and blowing at the higher altitudes.

"Indeed so, madam," continued Dumbledore, nodding towards the usher, "and once it was clear what she was doing I had no choice but to call upon my colleagues, friend and associates to aid her cause. For it _was _quite outlandish to think that she could survive alone – "

" – we have yet to discuss the legality of the organisation," interrupted Fudge, raising his hand and pointing a finger towards Dumbledore as his face began to redden againwith infuriation, "and why he insists that You-Know-Who has returned…" as he spoke, the pile of papers that the usher had evoked moved slowly in his direction, threatening to spill if an chance breeze should knock it and he eyed them suspiciously as it neared.

"And evidence from a handful of half-blind fools is hardly enough," continued Umbridge, folding her arms in self-acclaimed victory.

"These are from at least fifty wizards who have sworn a testimony that they have seen Lord Voldermort up to as many as twelve days after the events of Feburary 24th, at least a third of whom sighted him before Christmas and during the muggle deaths at Halloween. Although he appears to have gone into hiding, Dolores, he trod his path rather noisily." The usher's words were clear and plain as they had always been when she was addressing the head girl of her house (Ravenclaw, 1952-1959) and Dolores Umbridge shot her a look of detestation but said nothing. Ignoring Umbridge's wordlessness, the usher continued.

"The evidence we have procured cannot be ignored. Whether He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named arose in February at Hogwarts or somewhere else he did arise and terrorised more than a few wizards and muggles, as your own reports from Ministry aurors and befuddlers testify."

"So he _did _arise, said Umbridge stiffly, an eye on the usher across from her. "That is hereby established, Araminta – " beside her Tabitha felt Umbridge turn, surveying the Ministry wizards before looking over to Fudge, " – the evidence we have procured has been used to only one end…for security.

This made sense, thought Tabitha, nodding slowly to herself as Umbridge's pink-lined robe flapped next to her. They had already wasted so much time searching for Cecilia Frobisher, wading through oceans of paperwork in the process that the Ministry had to act much sooner than expected – a quick fix for everything. It was as Vincento had told her – the Ministry did not want to declare openly that Voldermort was back, and wanted to allay fears. But it also wanted to know what the bloody hell Dumbledore had been up to behind its back, and give him a public slap on the wrists.

Finding Cecilia Frobisher was top priority in order to do both those things. Which made sense that the memos and scraps of information she had been receiving over the past few weeks had been to do with Dumbledore's trial and with locating Cecilia Frobisher – Tabitha recognised within the trial elements of her own work carried out diligently and without error when (she thought testily) she should have been solving her mystery. However, as Umbridge had pointed out, using tones of pitying disappointment that she had reprieved for today's proceedings, that she had failed to actually locate the muggle.

"There is still the matter of the potion, Supreme Mugwump. The potion that the muggle devised for Dumbledore's…illness…which he has yet to produce, as requested, for our examination."

Tabitha was brought back to earth by Fudge's cool, calm words – the Minister was speaking slowly and clearly to Bonaccord again and clearly he wished to explore each matter that had been an obvious nuisance to him over the past few months.

"You mean this?" At the centre of the chamber Dumbledore moved a few steps towards the front of the court, holding up a vial that he had drawn from his pocket. Immediately every wizard and witch present turned their attention to the contents of Dumbledore's right hand.

"Test it out by all means; I'm sure the Department of Mysteries can put aside other less important works to deal with this blend of herbs and sugar." As he spoke Dumbledore tossed it in the direction of Umbridge who caught it as if it were an incendiary device, before passing it towards Tabitha. She looked at the tiny bottle which contained a clear, colourless liquid before stowing it away into her robes, trying to ignore the stares of her colleagues.

"H - how do we know it is what you say it is, Dumbledore?" asked Umbridge.

"You don't trust me Undersecretary Umbridge…? Minister Fudge…?" Dumbledore smiled between them, his expression, Tabitha thought, one of highest sincerity.

"I don't trust a muggle who has concocted goodness knows what, who has been at liberty in our world for heaven knows how long, and has done Merlin knows what to the minds of our children! She is number one most wanted muggle for a reason, Dumbledore, and we need to know the Universal Link – "

"And when I asked you if you wanted to meet her Cornelius, just a few short months ago, you were not inclined to do so even when she was lying in the hospital wing, recovering from injuries sustained in tasks above and beyond the call of duty…"

"Hmph!" Instead of replying, Fudge surveyed the court before returning to his large chair just to the lower right of Bonaccord and he folded his arms firmly. The Supreme Mugwump paused before getting to his feet once more and holding his wand to his throat.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you now have your defence. Any witnesses you would like to call may now be called and their testimony heard.

"There are none, Supreme Mugwump."

"Is there anything you wish to say in your defence, Albus?" Bonaccord leaned forward, whispering loudly in Dumbledore's direction. As he did so, Dumbledore looked at him, bowing his head solemnly before turning to address the Inquisitors.

"Only this. I am the last Recipocator. I reciprocated the knowledge of a muggle called Cecilia Frobisher who through her work under my jurisdiction at Hogwarts discovered what is being called the Universal Link; that is the link between muggles and wizards.

"Can you believe it?" whispered Umbridge to Tabitha, nudging her just in case she wasn't actually listening to the words that Dumbledore was saying. "He's for it now, that's for sure." Tabitha glanced at her and nodded in agreement before looking back at the chamber floor to where Dumbledore was still giving testimony.

"…also, that on the night of Saturday 24th February 1997 Lord Voldermort attempted to and successfully regained full strength despite numerous attempts to stop him, including from likeminded wizards to myself who believe that whatever the means he should be stopped for the good of everyone. What I have done has been carried out with this assertion – always – borne in mind."

"The Inquisitors will now deliberate." Bonaccord turned to the group of twelve witches and wizards in their plum-coloured robes who had got to their feet and were facing him. "Albus Dumbleodre. On the one hand, if it is decreed by the representatives of the International Wizengamot here today that your testimony against that which the Ministry has supplied is a constructed of fabrications, you will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban, do you understand this?" Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded his head.

"If it is found that you are telling the truth the charge of Reciprocation, to which you have openly admitted will be hereafter sentenced." Another nod.

"It is worrying to my mind that in Britain there is a muggle loose who is unbefuddled and who knows, well perhaps more than any muggle should know…that leaves the question of how we must decide how to proceed…"

88888888

In the dimly-lit corridor that led from the door of the Wizengamot chamber the Ministry representatives began to mingle. The trial had been called to a halt in order for the Inquisitors under the Supreme Mugwump's direction to discuss the evidence set before them and decide on a course of action. The whole business of deliberation was, as with a National Trial, carried out behind closed doors and once Bonaccord had dismissed all but those dozen witches and wizards chosen to make a judgment over Dumbledore's and other people's fates the two doors to the chamber had been sealed from the inside by the Supreme Mugwump himself.

Not all of the Ministry representatives were happy to mill and mix in the mahogany-panelled hallway however; indeed: even though many of them would be happy to have slunk back off to their offices to meet with colleagues from departments, throw handfuls of green powder into fireplaces or summoned post-imps to dispatch hastily scribbled notes, they were bound by the oath they had borne that morning, which was to witness the full trial in its entirety as impartial observers.

Some of the representatives therefore were engaged in a variety of activities with the hope of staving off the impending boredom that was soon to come: it had been known even with National matters within the Ministry that the court could take a good few hours until they had come to a conclusion, in fact it was not unheard of for Ministry representatives to be left in the corridor for nearly a week (Bannett vs. Ministry, 1922).

Around her, the wizards the who were in the trial were speaking noisily about the proceedings –

unable to retreat from the tomb-like ante-chamber debating, speculating and wondering were the only tools they had, until they were allowed back in.

Tabitha Penwright was amongst one of those who would have been very happy to have returned to her office if only to begin to investigate the new mystery that was residing like a hot stone in her pocket. Pacing along the obsidian-black passageways Tabtha's hand closed around the vial of strange potion, turning it over in the inside of her dress robe as she considered what had transpired in the Grand Trial. It could be a very long wait, with all they had to discuss…

Pacing further down the corridor away from the main throng of wizards Tabitha sought solitude. What was to happen now, she wondered, with everything that had gone on? What would be their verdict? How longer would she be kept from her real work with her mystery if she were to examine this potion and uncover its secrets? Was her own work about to be usurped for this?

Heading round the corner of ante-chamber Tabitha felt a stab of panic in her chest, a feeling of desperation flooded her body. Surely Umbridge wouldn't take her from her mystery? Sure, she was sending her to Hogwarts to teach…what would happen to it…? Lost in thought, she didn't notice the shape next to her until it spoke, making her jump.

"Tabitha?"

She looked towards the lantern-lit main passageway as the figure stepped out the darkness and clapped his hand on her shoulder. Tabitha exhaled with relief when she recognised his face and she smiled for the first time in three hours.

"Vincento! How did you get in here?"

"Secret. Thought I'd find you here, thought you might want this…" From his slim palm a glass of pumpkin juice appeared and he handed it to Tabitha who took it gratefully before perching on the blocks of black stone that lined this minor passageway. Vincento magicked another one and sat next to her.

"You shouldn't be here," she replied, smiling at Vincento again. "It's supposed to be sealed till the Trial's over."

"Thought you might need a chat; saw the Order of Reappointment on your desk," he added, draining his glass

Perhaps it would be prudent to pause here to describe Tabitha's colleague and only friend in the world (which, for an employee of the Department of Mysteries, was a very loose definition). Standing almost six feet tall, with bushy blonde hair and pointed, angular features Vincento had worked in the department of mysteries for almost ten years, having arrived at the Ministry when he came Of Age from the continent with the singular aim of working for the department. Unable to secure an interview for the job he sought Vincento pushed himself to the top of the pile by not only gaining access to the department but also solving Mungo's Riddle, a minor mystery that had, nevertheless, remained unsolved since the formation of the department. There had been a few raised eyebrows at the time; Vincento was a half-elf but, as his abilities to solve mysteries for the Ministry had brought it much wealth his parentage had never been an issue. Which was a good job, he had told Tabitha, for he had been brought up in the elven community as a foundling and no-one there could tell him about his parents either.

"I've been reassigned to Hogwarts," said Tabitha, trying not to let her dejection show in her voice. "Muggle Studies teacher. I'll be solving a mystery though," she added, as Vincento's angled features fixed themselves into a frown and she passed him the vial of potion that Umbridge had hastily thrown to her.

"So you've got to teach," said Vincento dully. "Why they just can't leave people where they're best suited, I really don't know. It was like all that business with the files." In his palm Tabitha watched as he turned the vial over, scrutinising the container carefully. "I hear wizard children are awfully petulant; and who're we going to get replacing you, that's my worry. If they send an Unspeakable, I'll – " Vincento stopped when he saw the expression on Tabitha's face.

"Do you think I want to go? I dread to think what Dolores will do if I argue. Besides, this potion…"

And in hushed tones Tabitha proceeded to describe to Vincento the goings-on in the trial. Once she had finished she smiled at her colleague, waiting for him to respond.

"Blimey," he remarked, shaking his head. His hair swished like linen on a washing line as the wizard considered all that she'd told him. "Never heard anything like it. I wonder what this potion actually is?" Getting to his feet, Vincento opened his slim palm, holding the vial to the lamplight and looked besottedly at the liquid as it shimmered blue-green.

"How was your evidence?" he continued, swishing the option in its bottle now. "How did Umbridge take it when she found out that you hadn't actually located the muggle yet?" Tabitha shook her head, pulling at her cloak, absently.

"They didn't ask for it; it seems like a bloody waste of time having done all of this work, just for it to be ignored. It's not a real trial though; they just want Dumbledore to trip up. It's like a witch-hunt…"

"What, the Christmas game with the blindfold and feather duster?" asked Vincento, confused.

"No, the process of hunting witches in the muggle world, centuries ago," she replied, shaking her head. "Like they're out to convict him and they don't really care what for." As she spoke Vincento turned his head quickly, as if something had just occurred to him.

"So if they implemented the Secrets Act at midnight last night…that figures about Fudge's memo…" Tabitha stared at him, waiting intently for him to continue.

"We had a memo this morning, signed by Fudge himself, telling us that any information that we were working on should cease and we were to continue with our proper jobs. They sent caretakers in to remove the files…one mentioned they'd been told to destroy all the information, especially that provided by members of the Order of the Phoenix…" Tabitha stared at him in disbelief.

"Are you sure?" she asked, continuing to stare back at Vincento, and he nodded.

"Why?"

"Because he's doing it by the book, that's why. They spent an awful amount of time talking about secret meetings Dumbledore and other wizards were having. It makes sense because the only way for Fudge to have the outcome he wants is to pull a few strings…"

This time it was Vincento who was nodding at Tabitha in disbelief.

"Exactly," said Tabitha, pulling on his dark blue robes. "Well, at least I'm still solving a mystery. At least she's not condemned me to a desk job, or worse, a squib job…"

"You're not a squib," replied Vincento quickly. "It's because of your talents that you are a Mysteriour. They don't just let anyone solve mysteries, you know." Tabitha nodded slowly. "I just – "

"There you are, Penwright!" Tabitha spun round to her right in fright as Dolores Umbridge came striding towards her. "Why are you off skulking round here?" Pacing heavily towards Tabitha, she looked past her, frowning in confusion as if looking at something that she _thought_ was there. Tabitha said nothing, trying to make her expression as innocent as she could as Umbridge's expression returned to mild admonishment of her absence.

"You won't be able to hear the calling in," she continued, folding her arms headmistress-like. "Have you got the potion there?"

A terror began to creep over Tabitha as she realised that, until Umbridge's unannounced intrusion Vincento had been looking at it. Turning to face her boss, Tabitha patted against the outside of her robes distractedly, wondering how to break it to her, and wondering what the consequences would be.

"Good," Umbridge replied, pushing up her spectacles and smiling a little. "You'll be able to report your progress to me when you get down to work." Smiling wider, Umbridge took a few more steps near her, sitting down and speaking to her as if sharing a confidence.

"You know, returning to your school, and solving this – " Umbridge leaned towards Tabitha's robe as if she were about to touch it before withdrawing her hand hastily. "Your late development…this _opportunity_…" she leaned back from Tabitha, who felt her head sagging automatically at the neck in response to her superior's reminder of her faults in her light, airy tone, "this will be your chance to make up for those inadequacies. You'll be able to more than make up for your failure in locating the muggle…" she shook her head despairingly. "Just think, you won't have to think about your past mistakes because now…now you'll be teaching…and showing the whole of the wizarding world what you're made of!"

Leaning over to Tabitha, Umbridge turned her head with one large hand, tilting her chin to look a her in the manner of a mother soothing a post-tantrum child. Despite herself, Tabitha nodded and smiled.

"Of course, Dolores," she replied automatically, trying not to let the rebellious thoughts at the back of her mind forge a route through to her cerebellum and then on to her mouth.

"Good," nodded Umbridge, getting back to her feet, clearly happy with her pacification. "Now, when you're ready you should make your way back round to the court door. I should dearly appreciate your support again when we recommence."

Tabitha continued to nod as Umbridge departed with a small wave before breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the last of her pink sash disappear back round the corner.

"Vincento?" she whispered, looking furtively around. "Are you still there…oh!" She jumped as she felt her friend's hand on her shoulder again, this time on her right-hand side when she was looking left.

"I just don't know why you don't stand your ground, Tabitha," said Vincento, handing her the vial of potion as he shook his head in disbelief. "You should – you're as good as any of us. In fact you're better. You solved the Gringotts mystery…"

Tabitha looked down again, biting back the urge to deny his claim, trying not to let the treacherous thoughts in her mind bubble to the surface. She knew that she was a soft touch, someone who strong-willed people pushed around. She also knew that she shouldn't be like that but…how do you change the habit of a lifetime…?

All she wanted was to be left alone, not be involved in all of this…not solving a potion mystery…and certainly not leaving the department to go to Hogwarts…

Instead of saying anything she turned and smiled at her friend, her eyes glimmering with embryonic tears that she didn't wish to share with him.

"Thanks, Vin; you always make me feel better."

"Well, when you're gone, just remember you're a Mysteriour first and foremost…" Tabitha smiled at Vincento, who returned it. It wasn't just any old smile, but conveyed more meaning than probably any other. It meant: we're different. Only a Mysteriour can understand a Mysteriour.

The noise behind them made Tabitha jump, and Vincento got to his feet.

"Look, I'd better go. She's coming back…" Before Tabitha's eyes Vincento faded, and she smiled at her friend. Only a Mysteriour knows a Mysteriour…

It was a good two minutes before Umbridge harried Tabitha back round to the doors, insisting she enter and sit by her when they took their places before Araminta the usher called the tired and irritable Ministry wizards back into the courtroom.

88888888

Twelve hours before the conclusion of one wizard trial another meeting, a Wizengamot of sorts (because ultimately it was a grand judgment made by a powerful wizard) also drew to a conclusion. Unlike the Grand Trial, the proceedings at this meeting were not recorded in any official (or unofficial) books or paperwork and neither is most of its content repeatable.

Not repeatable to his wife at any rate; Lucius Malfoy was already editing the proceedings that he had engaged in with the Dark Lord as he walked stiffly through the night in order to make it acceptable for his wife's ears. Usually, he wouldn't have bothered for Narcissa Malfoy was normally only cared to know about things that would affect their son.

The night was dark; the moon was shrouded in a thick covering of cloud and the wind was whipping sporadically through the hedges and trees. Walking back in the darkness through the Wiltshire countryside Malfoy recalled the evening that had just unfolded around them.

The Dark Lord, powerful and mighty, disclosed in veiled, hushed tones to the remainder of his followers the details of his survival. It wasn't pretty, far from it. However as the Dark Lord himself had pointed out, his situation had been far worse than this and he had proceeded to instruct those faithful few that had answered the Call (those who had not been killed in battle, imprisoned in Azkaban or gone into hiding) in the individual tasks they must fulfil.

It was slow progress as Lucius Malfoy headed home. His body ached from his trek that has been nearly fifteen miles on foot and the injuries he sustained during his master's failed uprising had slowed his progress somewhat. But it had to be on foot – any sign magical transport and he would be suspected: oh, he could talk his way out of it that was for sure, however…

Ahead of him the lights of Malfoy Manor loomed, like beacons drawing Malfoy nearer and nearer to home. Nearer to his family to whom he must break the news…

...Bellatrix had been there, of course. What, other than Azkaban prison could prevent her from being by her master's side, ready to do his bidding? Other than his sister-in-law only three others (including himself) had attended. But the Dark Lord had not been in a state of being to castigate those present for those who were not and the missions he had assigned to each of them had been conveyed quickly and to the point. To one however, there were still questions that they – his followers – needed answering.

"They have many weapons my Lord, as the muggle has testified," Rabastan Lestrange had reminded their master and Malfoy had wondered whether challenging Voldermort in such a manner was not entirely the wisest thing to do. However their Lord had merely laughed and dismissed his worries.

"But…you let her escape, my Lord…" Wormtail's voice had quavered despite their master's pitiful situation and had whimpered into silence as Voldermort had laughed horribly.

"…you think I could not have killed her?" In his mind's ear Malfoy could hear his master's voice mock as Wormtail had questioned him. "I let her escape in my desire to acquire the potion in her possession. A unique muggle, yes but hardly immortal. My dear Wormtail, I need her alive in order to overcome the many facets of this so-called muggle science. It is just another facet to be explored and overcome before I regain my full power."

And there had been his own task…

…in his mind he could hear his wife now, raging and screaming when she heard the news. He could see his prized 200-year-old family porcelain, more of it becoming worthless shards by the second as he stood in his own living room watching…

He wouldn't tell her he had more or less been draw into his task, by the Dark Lord demanding he told himself and the other three faithful followers what exactly Malfoy could offer him, or that he'd been provoked to a certain extent, into the deal.

The lights sparkling ahead lit in the rooms of his house (which would ordinarily spell welcome and sanctuary) invoked fear and uncertainty, for Malfoy knew that telling Narcissa was infinitely worse than the unpleasant experience of crossing the Dark Lord...

…these were times of war; things had to be sacrificed. She would have to understand…

88888888

It was a good ten minutes since the Ministry representatives had been seated before the Inquisitors, followed by the court usher, and finally the Supreme Mugwump returned to the courtroom. Before them Dumbledore already sat, in the chair in the centre of the chamber waiting patiently and attentively, his hands folded in his lap over the very end of his beard. It unnerved Tabitha to see him so still; it seemed unnatural. If it had been her who was sitting there instead of him she knew she would be most agitated and nervous.

Pierre Bonaccord retook his seat above the rest of the court, waiting for the Inquisitors to take their seats before sitting himself, an unspoken signal to the rest of the court that the conclusion of the trial had begun.

The mumbling of the wizards around Tabitha fell to nothing as the Prime Inquisitor got to her feet, retrieving the parchment that the usher had levitated to her waiting hand. She looked round the court before waiting for the Supreme Mugwump to give her leave to continue.

"If we accept that Voldermort has returned," began the Prime Inquisitor in her clipped, Germanic accent, "which we do not, then we have to accept that a muggle was brought to Hogwarts to provide you with medicine, and her involvement with other wizards with whom you had been communicating was her own decision." Fixing her eyes on Dumbledore, the Prime Inquisitor continued, seemingly unaware that the Ministry wizards were leaning towards the centre of the chamber, determined not to miss a word.

"We, an Inquisition of your peers chosen from the wizarding colonies of the world find the defendant Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore guilty of Reciprocation." Before the Prime Inquisitor, the words she was speaking were inscribing themselves on the official court notes that she was holding.

A stunned silence echoed around the chamber. Thoughts raced through Tabitha's mind as she tried to take in what she had heard. Dumbledore was guilty…they'd found him guilty. What now…? Would he be imprisoned in Azkaban…? Had he been removed from Hogwarts…? She strained past the heads of the wizards in front of her so she could follow everything that was happening.

"We turn to the Supreme Mugwump to pass sentence." The Prime Inquisitor levitated the parchment towards Pierre Bonaccord, the flower in his hat somewhat droopier, Tabitha noticed, than when he'd taken his seat above them all that morning.

"You have been found guilty of Reciprocation, a practice that is illegal under the laws of your country. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you are hereby fined G200, to be paid in full."

Bonaccord removed his wand, levitating the parchment down to the usher which now contained the sentence that he had just proclaimed and she folded it neatly before placing it inside a small black pouch.

The tidal wave of outrage did not start immediately; indeed it was a good minute before the protestations began. Tabitha said nothing as she felt the noise crescendo to a din and she noticed a surprised Bonaccord retake his seat in above them whence he was about to depart. Dumbledore, she noticed, had neither moved nor spoken throughout the entire time they had been there. Was the leniency of the sentence a reflection on Cornelius Fudge's irregular announcement of the Secrecy Act, Tabitha wondered?

"Clearly there are matters to be discussed, over which I am obliged to preside." Bonaccord's squeaky voice penetrated the commotion that the Ministry wizards were making. "Minister Fudge, perhaps you could disclose your rather clear remonstrations in response to the finding and sentence of the court?" Tabitha turned and saw that Fudge was on his feet, and was addressing the Supreme Mugwump, before levitating a rather large piece of parchment over to Bonaccord.

"A call for all organisations to be disbanded and made illegal…" Bonaccord read from the document before looking back at Fudge. "Of course you may do this yourself Minister; you have the right to introduce any law prohibiting this, but must be prepared for wizards to be arrested when they set foot into the bar on the fifth floor in the Ministry of Magic…what is the name of the establishment…?"

"The Witch's Finger," declared one of the Inquisitors from the back row.

"Indeed," added Bonaccord, striking a line through the first point on Fudge's list.

"That the details of the Universal Link be disclosed to your Ministry…hm…could you explain to me the logic of this point, Fudge?" The Minister for Magic got to his feet, calmly addressing the Supreme Mugwump, his posture and demeanour more stateswizard-like, as Tabitha recalled him looking the first day that she met him.

"When it is finally confirmed that Lord Voldermort is finally defeated, that may be a time when we can allow ourselves the freedom to investigate our links with the muggle population. In the meantime I propose that the information is kept within our Department of Mysteries until such time presents itself and for safekeeping before it is thoroughly investigated and it had been decided how we are going to incorporate it into our magical thinking."

"Then we will find it first," whispered Dolores Umbridge, her face close to Tabitha's ear, "when you go to Hogwarts. You will find it, Penwright, and bring it back to the Department for security."

Tabitha nodded dismally and sighed inwardly. How long was this trial actually going to last now, when at every turn her role was growing deeper and more involved?

"Now the question of the muggle…what is the verdict of your own inquiry, Minister Fudge?" The Supreme Mugwump looked over his to Fudge, who looked at Umbridge. Umbridge got to her feet and addressed Bonaccord directly.

"The muggle Cecilia Frobisher has not been found. Indeed, it has been very hard to gain even a local trace on her – " Umbridge paused, ignoring the snort from behind them, "despite our hardest efforts and expertise being used – "

Tabitha felt her face going red; Umbridge was obviously referring to the copy of her report that she had sent to her by post imp that morning in which she had declared that after weeks of trawling through vast amounts of leads Cecilia Frobisher had not been found.

" – the locating the muggle's whereabouts has been the highest priority in terms of wizard safety since her existence was known…" Umbridge looked across at Fudge loyally, "…and the Minister has, in his wisdom, rectified the problem with the introduction of the Security Act…"

"Hm…" nodded Bonaccord, nodding in acknowledgement of Umbridge's clarification, before looking back to Fudge's list. Tabitha watched as Bonaccord cast a look towards Dumbledore and she realised the headmaster of her soon-to-be new place of work had still not moved or spoken.

"I understand, " the Supreme Mugwump glanced back at Fudge's list, "that you are not to be short of a Muggle Studies teacher for long, Dumbledore – "

"Indeed, Supreme Mugwump," continued Umbridge, who was still on her feet and clearly intent on making everything on Fudge's list as plain as possible. "As a representative of the Ministry Miss Tabitha Penwright," here, Umbridge looked introductorily at her and Tabitha felt her face blush as the wizards, as a man, turned to look at her, "has been assigned by the Ministry to teach the subject.

"Dumbledore?" Bonaccord looked towards the defendant, as if noticing for the first time since the recommencement of the trial that he had not spoken.

"I, and the rest of my teaching staff, will be happy to welcome Undersecretary Umbridge and Miss Penwright at Hogwarts school as per the decree sent by Minister Fudge, in spite of the fact that neither has any teaching experience." Bonaccord looked across to the Ministry representatives and in reply, Umbridge spoke again.

"By your own admission, Dumbledore you have professed the importance of Muggle Studies, enough to make it examinable. We, that is the Ministry, wish merely to dispense the curriculum carefully and therefore bridge the gap between wizards and muggles in a measured, prescribed way. Miss Penwright is more than familiar with the required material."

The court fell silent. Umbridge remained standing as Bonaccord looked across at Fudge before returning his gaze to Dumbledore. Between the two wizards a conversation of unspoken dialogue was taking place.

"Therefore you accept that the position of Muggle Studies is now under the jurisdiction of the Ministry in its entirety, including staffing and curriculum?" This time it wasn't Bonaccord who was addressing Dumbledore it was Fudge. Dumbledore nodded once, more of a bow than a nod, Tabitha thought and Umbridge her cast a triumphant look before looking back at Bonaccord. The Supreme Mugwump appeared to have finished Fudge's list.

"He-hm."

Disturbed from his imminent summary of this Full Trial, Pierre Bonaccord turned to the Ministry representatives in search for the owner of the cough.

"Madam Prosecutor?" Umbridge was wearing an expression of innocence and had raised her hand in compliance.

"Before you continue, Supreme Mugwump, there is just one more point that we, that is the Ministry, would like resolved." She paused and waited for her cue from Bonaccord, who had since sat down whilst scrutinising Fudge's list.

"Continue Madam."

"Miss Penwright – " she indicated Tabitha again, much to her embarrassment, " – I feel, since her time at Hogwarts itself was not entirely – " perhaps she could feel Tabitha's radiant agony as she spoke because Umbridge then changed her tack, " – to ensure the Universal Link is preserved for future wizarding generations to come Miss Penwright should be given liberty to the resources from which the muggle Cecilia Frobisher benefited."

"Certainly. That goes without saying." Dumbledore had risen from his chair and was now standing at full height as he addressed Umbridge before smiling briefly in acknowledgement at a now mortified Tabitha. The Ministry wizards around them sat silently, but looked across at her too.

"So, there is just one more issue to address," he concluded in his high-pitched tones, looking at the last point on Fudge's list. "Cecilia Frobisher is, despite her service to the wizard world, is also in breach of many laws, ones which are fundamental to keeping our world safe that the Minister for Magic has taken the precaution of introducing a new law to protect wizards. I understand that the hunt for Cecilia Frobisher has floundered?" He looked across at Fudge who in turn looked at Umbridge. Dolores Umbridge nodded slowly.

"The muggle will be located and befuddled," concluded Bonaccord simply and made to get to his feet. "Case dis – "

But before Bonaccord could dismiss the court there was a commotion from the back of the representatives punctuated with a shout.

"Who is holding this court in contempt?!" Bonaccord was now indignant: not only had he been called out of retirement to preside over a weak case against a highly respected peer, but he had been obliged to make judgements over homeland issues. Now, someone had the audacity to delay him further. He looked at the group of Ministry wizards, scanning their group for the dissenter.

"Ministry wizard, do you have something to say?"

At the front of the group now, Arthur Weasley had managed to push his way through the crowd and was now standing, red faced, at the front of the court.

"This is highly irregular, Weasley," blustered Fudge, but Bonaccord held up his hand.

"Why does Mrs Frobisher have to be befuddled? Surely muggles and wizards have long forged relations with each other? Muggle-born children are proof enough of that, aren't they?"

"I believe you are already married, Mr Weasley," said Fudge, glancing over his shoulder at a tall, thin Ministry employee sitting behind him who was turning as red as beetroot. "Weatherby, isn't that your father?" Percy Weasley nodded stiffly, his slowly reddening face clashing violently with his hair.

"Not me," Arthur added hastily, "but who is to call their relationship into question, especially since – " he glanced at Dumbledore, his forthright opposition faltering as he made eye contact. "That…that's all I have to say, My Lord." Mr Weasley bowed and nodded at Bonaccord before sitting awkwardly on a wizard next to him, mistaking him for an empty seat.

"It is settled then." From underneath Bonaccord's chair the court usher spoke, clearly and smoothly. "According to International Magical Law laid down by the Council of Warlocks in 1489 muggles who willingly enter into relations with wizards are exempt from Befuddlement."

"So!" thundered Fudge, "she's in a relationship with a wizard, is she?" He glared at Dumbledore menacingly. "Therefore it must have been registered with the Ministry. If it is not, it is not recognised, and if it was not recognised as of midnight yesterday then, due to the Security Act she must be befuddled!"

"You are forgetting one thing, Cornelius," declared Dumbledore, resigning his muteness for clarity for the whole of the court to hear. "She was in a relationship with a wizard before midnight last night, and has been so for many months. As you have pointed out on frequent occasions I was Mrs Frobisher's employer, and as such I am well prepared to sign any document you care to produce, to that effect."

"This does indeed put a different light on my verdict," continued Bonaccord wearily as muttering from the Ministry wizards began again. "I – " But Dolores Umbridge was back on her feet again, staring at the Supreme Mugwump intently.

"Madam Prosecutor…?" Dolores shunted her spectacles up her nose in a swift no-nonsense gesture and she cleared her throat dramatically.

"Cecilia Frobisher in a relationship with a wizard is beside the point," she declared, clicking her fingers and making a small sheet of parchment appear in her left hand. "Minister, despite the sanctity and affairs of the heart, we are talking about one muggle whose knowledge of our world puts us all in jeopardy." She giggled a little as if the thought had just occurred to her.

"Forgive me in my naivety Minister, being a single woman, but can _all_ relationships be cast above our own security? Can we sacrifice the stability of our world for one muggle who, by all accounts, has traversed the commonly accepted bounds we have put in place, who has been invited to traverse them? We are talking about one life, for thousands of wizard lives." She smiled confidently at Fudge, before adding, "and a muggle life at that!"

The entire courtroom erupted in a deluge of protestations. All of the wizards, including now the Inquisitors were talking, arguing, chatting, and generally disagreeing about the point that Umbridge had raised. In amongst the rowdiness Bonaccord on his feet in an attempt to gain order, but even with voice amplification he was having trouble being heard. Eventually he turned his wand outwards and two warning bolts shot out of it, their red firework bangs shocking the wizards into silence.

"I will have order! I will not allow such contempt and insubordination! This is a Grand case! Do not interrupt again!" Straightening his hat, and aligning the flower in the brim, Pierre Bonaccord waited for the wizards to be seated and settled before continuing.

"Now if you will let me finish." He surveyed the now still audience of wizards, taking in the Minister for Magic, the Prosecutor and Dumbledore. "From the evidence brought before me in relation to your hearing today Dumbledore, no other muggle has so boldly trod their way into the lives if wizards and has managed to remain undetected. This is a situation which is not tolerable." He turned to the Inquisitors before looking back at Dumbledore.

"I is the decision of this court under my judgment that the muggle, Cecilia Frobisher will be befuddled. This befuddlement will be carried out by yourself, Dumbledore, or someone you see fit to befuddle her in a permitted manner, bringing with you her memories for storage."

"Well, you leave me with a dilemma, Supreme Mugwump." Dumbledore nodded gravely in Bonaccord's direction. "You see, I would be very much inclined to carry out this verdict however…I have absolutely no idea where I can find Mrs Frobisher…" Around them, the chattering from the Ministry representatives began again. "Muggles are very hard to find when they want not to be found; it is primarily their world, after all."

Bonaccord sighed. This was not how he had intended his Saturday to go. By now, he should be finishing a post-prandial brandy in the "Three Wyrd Ones", not negotiating with a young whippersnapper about the location or marital status of a muggle. Getting to his feet (which symbolised the end of a Wizengamot Trial) Bonaccord stood firm and fixed Dumbledore with a stare.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you are charged as her employer to bring the memories that are hers within a week. The Ministry clearly require the secrets of muggle science and the peace of mind that security within this realm has not been compromised."

Silence reigned for just a few moments, but before Bonaccord could leave the chamber, Dumbledore looked at him.

"And if I refuse?"

"You are in no position to refuse. If you do not carry out this order you will be in breach of this judgment. Then you will be sent to Azkaban and we will procure the information in a less than permitted manner to procure the information we require from Cecilia Frobisher."

"If you refuse Dumbledore, we will send a dementor…

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A/N: This has been a very difficult chapter to write – I endeavour to update more often from now on.


	7. Topsy Turvy

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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Cecilia Frobisher spent much of her Sunday doing what she had done the day before, which involved plenty of investigation concerning a potion and very little concerning the potion she was supposed to be working on. She had risen early; Remus had returned to the cottage in the early hours of the morning and as he slipped into bed next to her she was roused from her dream.

Remus had fallen to sleep almost immediately as he always did on nights such as those and Cecilia had lain awake next to him for some time listening to his breathing become deeper and more restful, knowing that the tolls of whatever the evening had brought him were being soothed away with the anaesthesia of sleep. Then Cecilia had slipped out of the covers and, pulling on her dressing gown as her beloved's sighs of contented rest turned into indistinguishable muttering, made her way quietly downstairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Making herself a cup of tea (which involved boiling tap water in a copper kettle on the cooking range and then pouring the hot water over the tea leaves which Remus had helpfully removed from the teabags when she had bought them on her last trip to Ambleside), Cecilia sat in the peaceful solitude of the kitchen watching the sun illuminate the kitchen's tiled floor as it's embryonic rays crept through the living room window.

Peace and quiet was what she needed at the moment; aside from the guilt that she had lurking in a mental cul-de-sac at her near-abandonment of the potion that she was supposed to be redeveloping for Harry with Snape (the letter that had arrived the day before from Snape had made the feeling more acute) Cecilia felt almost unmotivated by it following her discussion of her plans with Sirius. It was as if her inner torch was now illuminating this new mystery and her mind was straining at the leash like an excitable puppy in her child-like urgency to discover.

Yes, Cecilia concluded to herself wryly, Sirius. Perhaps if he had laughed at her when she had told him about her plan; belittled her and called her naïve in the guise of a half-joke as was his manner Cecilia knew that she would have put the idea of developing a cure for Remus's lycanthropy to the back of her mind. And perhaps she would have dismissed them long ago had it not been for the notes that were in her possession.

How ever they had come to be mixed up in the back of her notes that Snape had returned to her a few days ago Cecilia neither knew nor cared; what she did care about was the apparent claim that they had appeared to suggest. The situation she had shared tentatively with Sirius had been tame and weak compared to what the notes appeared to actually claim and this is why she had spent most of Saturday working secretly on it…

"…no more cloak and dagger stuff for me," she'd told Sirius…but this wasn't deception, rather the beginnings of a new adventure…

She sipped at her tea thoughtfully as she pondered the origin of the notes. It wasn't as if she hadn't actually considered the content of the pages (she wouldn't be Cecilia Frobisher if she hadn't) and just as she knew she had never seen them before Cecilia assumed they must have come from Hogwarts at the time when the school's teachers had contributed to her bank of knowledge to replace what she had lost to the wand of Draco Malfoy.

They were detailed to the point of fastidiousness and had she not been familiar with Snape's robust lettering that had persistently nestled on an infuriatingly regular basis next to her own scrawl she would have sworn they were his.

What did the notes entail then? Had the author known what they were writing and what was their purpose for doing so? There was nothing explicit laid down in the parchment (which Cecilia was resisting from going to fetch from the stack of ephemera that was still piled on the floor of the utility room) yet the sentences, written in note form that suggested they had been compiled over several intervals rather than in one go, were the careful observations of werewolf behaviour in marvellous detail.

What made her think that the tangle of ideas that were laid out in fascinating detail meant anything, though? Cecilia swirled her increasingly-cooling drink around as she deliberated over the implications of not only her possession of them but also setting on a course of action based on what they detailed.

If she had been someone else who was attempting this and Cecilia had been asked her opinion then she would probably advise this someone else that it was a waste of time (which was one of the many reasons why she had not questioned the content of the parchments with Dumbledore, Minerva or Snape) and to some extent she was taking advantage of her situation with respect to the time she had available, her solitude and available esources. But when it came down to it, Cecilia knew that she loved Remus Lupin with all of her heart. How could she do anything other than try to at least see whether what these pages seemed to be telling her was true?

Turning her almost-empty cup around in her hands Cecilia watched the dregs of tea circle around the bottom as she wondered whether she should have shared her secret with Sirius and, as she thought about it, she decided she was glad she had, even if it was just for peace of mind. Sirius was Remus's best friend and in spite (or because of) their past history she was keen to have him know that she had his best friend's happiness at heart.

Her thoughts drifted back, as she got to her feet to refill her teacup with now-brewed tea, to a day ago when she had been making breakfast in that very kitchen, and about the information she had received in exchange for her own confidence. As much as she wanted to talk at length about what Sirius had told her with Remus when he finally arose at around teatime Cecilia found that she was actually having trouble understanding it herself. She had promised not to share it with anyone in any case, but that Sirius had asked her opinion had been the overriding reason as to why she could not forget about it. Instead Cecilia's mind filled up and began to weigh heavily again with the unresolved possibilities and implications.

He had said that Voldermort had used powerful magic to split his soul…if we are talking about energy and science in the context of the Universal Link then yes that was possible. Energy could certainly alter the mind and it wasn't outside the realms of possibility that sufficiently efficient energy as produced by a powerful spell could allow a break-up of some kind and possibly a transferral to another location. Even if she was ignorant of her own theory then it was clear from her own witness that Voldermort could exist without an intact soul and that he had existed quite well indeed.

Cecilia swallowed quickly at the now tannin-concentrated tea that she had just imbibed as a doubt crossed her mind. Why had Sirius imparted the information to her? He had told her it had something to do with his brother and that these horcruxes, the objects the parts of the soul were put into. Why had he wanted her assistance?

And then it dawned on Cecilia…perhaps in the same way that she had confided in him as Remus's friend, Sirius had told her a little about his brother for the same reason…to make amends and to silently tell her that all was now well between them…

With renewed vigour and a glow in her stomach at her happy revelation Cecilia glanced towards the utility room as she got to her feet and made her way to her research. Remus would be up soon and leaving for his work with the Order and however tempted she was to turn back to the _other_ research she didn't want to run the risk of discovery.

Around the small utility room the sunlight had begun to grow in its intensity and it reflected off the glassware that she had used to create the last batch of potion, its rays glinting off the backwash that still remained in the bottom of the flask. As she began the process of cleaning her glassware Cecilia began to wrestle with a sluggish thought that groaned with under-use in the back of her mind as she forced her mindset into a particular vein. Picking up the flask to begin with Cecilia began to rinse it out under a small tap that was fixed on the external wall of the utility room and dropped directly into a drain below it.

What was annoying her with Harry's potion at the moment, Cecilia pondered as she swirled for the third time fresh spring water around the rotund piece of glassware, was her limited knowledge base. When she worked on it the first time she had had access to the Hogwarts library and even though she had found very little the very act of carrying out research had allowed for the relevant information to click into place.

Well, there was very little that could be done about that, concluded Cecilia as she returned the flask to its cork ring before beginning to dismantle the reflux condenser from its stand, she would have to use what she already knew and understand to make a bold leap of faith into the unknown and commit herself to a path based on scant knowledge.

The removal of the congealed potion around the lip of the condenser however was abandoned as Cecilia flitted from its cleanliness to the drawer in the wooden bench, or more specifically to the notebook that she had abandoned with equal suddenness a couple of days ago. She took up a pen and began to outline the concepts that made up the new theory about the continuum of wizards with respect to their magical abilities.

Their main theory was that how much of a wizard you are in terms of how well you could metabolise energy to make magic is a continuum. That is, it is not one determined factor and where you fall on a range that varied from no magical ability to high magical ability was determined to various degrees by: a) birth (and in particular the existence of a "W" gene which was present in the wizard samples and that of Petunia Dursley and the existence of other complementary genes that enhanced ability), b) your environment (which could be altered, as seen by Henrietta Edwards and her decision to give up her powers) and c) to your predisposition, emotions and strength of feeling and willpower.

It was the combination of these factors that determined how magical a wizard or witch was, and why there was a variety of strength of power. It was why, with much empathy and assistance squibs could still operate in the wizard world and why, she supposed, that a so-called muggle as Petunia Dursley must have such strong feelings against wizards that she had allowed her feelings to mask, or even detriment her abilities.

Of course, the latter was only a hypothesis, and it would take more research to prove whether this was true. However Snape also believed it to be true, which reinforced her own belief…

…but where to progress from here? And how did this fit into the making of Harry's potion?

Putting down her pen, Cecilia made her slippered way across to the tap again and proceeded to work on removing the encrusted potion from its rim. She couldn't be certain to how it would fit together, not yet. Not until she knew the results of Snape's work using spells and then he would hopefully respond to her theory about Petunia Dursley, which she had outlined in her last letter to her colleague.

And she would have to wait, Cecilia thought wryly as she took up the clean flask and began to fill it with ingredients that would be her first rough practise at manufacturing the wolfsbane potion which she had surmised yesterday that would be the start of her lycanthropy cure. Her premise was based on theory and further research was limited through the lack of connection to resources.

Tearing the herbs to create a smaller surface area Cecilia's mind drifted back to Remus. Although he usually slept during this time in the month for a good many hours he had slept up until the early evening the day before and she had had to wake him when it got dark for him to take his potion. He had reassured her he was just tired from an exciting foray with Sirius and he had continued to sleep in his wolf form before the wood burning fire, his torso moving in and out, as his paws flicked sporadically.

From her vantage point, with her legs over one arm of a chair Cecilia had pondered what his lupine dreams consisted of, alikening them to dog dreams where they are chasing their prey and it wasn't until she had given her forebrain a kick and asked herself rhetorically exactly what quarry a werewolf might be pursuing that she halted that train of thought, changed platforms and boarded another, destination "Lupinism Cure". She had then spent a good few hours as she planned her new exciting scientific adventure, watching him for a time as she read through her new notes as he transformed into his human form, lying, fully clothed on the thick pile rug in front of the spent embers of the fire before retiring to her night's slumber. It had been early that morning when Remus had joined her there.

Once Cecilia had the ingredients of the potion simmering quietly under reflux over a camping gas burner as the light began to stream in more boldly through the window she pulled her notes back out of the bench drawer as she began to think about the theory surrounding her manufacture of the lycanthropy cure that her mysterious notes alluded to and for the first time since she had made the decision to investigate it, Cecilia began to feel doubtful.

Of course she couldn't actually make the potion; she was a muggle after all and could make the blend of potions as best as she could and she would need Snape's skilful assistance in order for its magical properties to avail themselves...and then…to tell Remus, and hope. All she had was hope…a foolish hope…

…and then a great crash in the kitchen, a whooping which sounded as if something had collided with the wall and the sound of the living room door slamming brought Cecilia back down to earth and caused her to drop her notebook onto the large grey flagstones as she hurried to see what was going on.

"Morning love," said Remus as he looked at her sheepishly. "I was too late for the owl and he crashed." On the floor in front of them lay a large, once-majestic tawny owl, thrown onto its back. It fluttered and whooped in alarm as the shock of its impact into the window was finally dawning on it. Cecilia looked at the damaged window frame where it was clear that the bird had been trying to get through and where Remus had been too slow to allow it to glide gracefully in through the open window.

"Fenestra Reparo," added Remus, shaking his head, and the broken pane of glass and splintered wood of the frame leapt back into place. Then he followed Cecilia's gaze and he added, "they're used to it. He'll be alright in a few minutes."

"So, a cup of tea?" asked Cecilia as she stepped past the owl's prostrate form on their kitchen floor as it struggled to its feet. "Toast?" Remus shook his head and she realised he was holding a letter. "For you or me?" she continued, filling up the copper kettle with water again.

"Me," said Remus, making his way over to the kitchen table and taking a seat. "Dumbledore," he added as she continued to look at him while she washed her cup under the kitchen tap.

"It's good of him to send you your work by owl," commented Cecilia when Remus hadn't replied and, as he hadn't replied about her offer of tea and toast she made both, placing the cup and plate in front of him. Sitting down on the chair opposite, she realised that, at seven-thirty on a Sunday morning he was already dressed in his work clothes.

"So, are you going to be back for tea?" asked Cecilia as Remus continued to read the letter. "Or shall I do you breakfast again?"

"What? Oh, no. Yes. I'll be back early evening," said Remus brightly, breaking off from his letter from Dumbledore and placing it on the table. "I'll need my potion this evening anyway and it'll probably be the last night. The fire's preferable this evening," he added as he looked at Cecilia, "and – " he broke off as the letter on the kitchen table exploded into a purple fireball before evaporating before their eyes.

"He really wants to make sure," commented Cecilia, smiling back at Remus as she extended her hand across the table. "I'm glad you'll be back," she added as he got to his feet and she rose too, walking over to the window and opening it so the post owl could fly back through it and out onto the rest of its deliveries.

"And you, off back to bed," he chided mildly as Cecilia smiled guiltily. "I know you probably waited until I transformed before going to bed last night and you were up at the crack of dawn." Looking past her at the pile of paper over the utility room floor he shook his head.

"Once I've tidied," she added as Remus pulled her closer and she hugged him as he kissed the top of her hair before disapparating.

And so, because of her famine of sleep that previous night Cecilia was in bed when she heard a crack downstairs which woke her up with a start and had proceeded to pull on her dressing gown around her and hold it together (she had lost the tie) as she yawned her way downstairs…

…before promptly turning back (now more awake) and hurrying back into their bedroom to dress properly for a visit from Severus Snape…

…through a haze of ebbing tiredness Cecilia had begin to have a long discourse with Snape as they sat together in the cottage's sitting room, about the science related to the Universal Link which she had outlined in her letter. He chided her for working too late, telling her that they would not make efficient gains if she became a slave to it and Cecilia felt a stab of guilt at her dereliction of duty that day and the day before when she had focused rebelliously in the possible lycanthropy cure.

There was just one more day to go, Snape informed her, changing the subject swiftly to Cecilia's relief, before school recommenced and he wanted to make sure he had all of the contacts and information correct before the monotony and banality of teaching began. To hear him describe teaching in such a manner Cecilia felt sorry for him. To her, even when she was at her most tired and worn down from problems, delays, lack of effective productivity and fussy children it was always a great joy. Because she didn't want a pedagogical argument with him however she changed the subject again.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" she asked, getting to her feet. "I'm afraid I've no milk; Remus doesn't care for it – oh." Cecilia broke off as Snape magicked a tray of tea and biscuits onto a small tray and she was reminded of the first time she had seen him flourish his wand to produce a tea tray similar to this in Dumbledore's portable study when they had first met, almost a year ago in Grimmauld Place.

"Thanks," she said graciously, returning to her seat and taking up a cup which, she noted, he had remembered to leave black.

"I know this is a strange question," she continued as Snape sipped silently at his own tea, "why is it that Voldermort pursues Harry so relentlessly? Why does he want to kill him when there are surely other ways he could come to power?" Mid-biscuit, Snape turned slowly to look at her, his face firm, before swallowing his mouthful of custard cream and looking at her intently.

"Cecilia," he began, turning to face her and looking at her solemnly and Cecilia wondered whether she had ever seen his expression so grave. She lowered her hand that was holding her teacup and sat still, waiting for him to continue and the wizard leaned towards her, though there was no affection in his gesture.

"The way you think around things…that is not the manner in which Lord Voldermort thinks. To him the dent to his powerful pride is Potter's existence, as predicted in the prophecy."

"The prophecy…" repeated Cecilia quietly. "Which is what, exactly?"

"That…I cannot disclose, Cecilia. It is between Potter and Professor Dumbledore. "But the point remains: the Dark Lord will not abide any to live that have challenged him, whether unconsciously or deliberately. Now," he continued, turning his head towards the kitchen door as his tone lightened, perhaps we should continue with our discussion. "You have your research notes…?"

He trailed off as he watched Cecilia rise to her feet before making her way into the kitchen. Not a minute later she was handing over her notebook (absent of lycanthropy research or the original notes) and for a further hour they discussed science and magic, making progress in terms of hypotheses and plans of action.

At his insistence, she and Snape covered the basics of science again although it was clear to Cecilia that was not necessary. In addition, his understanding, analysis and conclusive skills for work around upper A-Level standard, which was required to understand the fundamentals and subtleties of the Universal Link were astonishing and through an ever diminishing haze Cecilia wondered why he needed to check with her at all.

"Therefore it would seem necessary that my work should encompass the investigation of DNA," Snape concluded, folding together her recent notebook. "If we agree there is a continuum then it would seem likely that there are other genes that influence how wizard-like a wizard is. How far he is powerful, adept, astute…" He handed the book back to Cecilia before getting to his feet. "You understand how controversial this is to wizard-kind?" Cecilia stared back at him vacantly, clearly defying his assumption.

"The investigation of blood, which is sacred to wizards, was frowned upon even by Dumbledore himself," he continued, beginning to tread over the cottage's well-worn carpet towards the large picture window that lay at the end of the living room, his shadow from the early evening sun lengthening in its direction. "To declare that magical powers can be determined through a random assortment of genes, biological…not borne of the magical essence within a wizard - the soul – by the chance assembly of protein molecules is…abhorrent!" He turned round swiftly, shouting the word sharply across the room and fixed her with a stare. "To wizards. A majority verdict would declare it so," he clarified, before looking away. She felt her face soften as she began to realise how important it was to him that she understood; Snape looked back at her again and Cecilia got to her feet.

"Yes," she nodded, ignoring the spark that Snape's mention of wizards' souls had stirred in the back of her mind but she forced the mental door of her mind shut lest in Snape's comfortable company she betrayed the trust that was put in her a day ago. "I see now that – " Cecilia broke off again as self-consciousness pricked under her thorax and she changed the subject, " – Nick Smith – "

"The muggle man who so graciously donated his equipment." Snape looked towards the kitchen door. Cecilia nodded. "I wish to test more samples, from others, to cross-reference our results," he continued. "We have time, barely time but enough to carry out further analysis – "

" – if we wish the potion to be safe and effective for Harry," nodded Cecilia, finishing Snape's sentence with annoying accuracy, "I understand…

"Of course, your absence at Hogwarts has made further work on my part necessary," he continued, folding his arms. "If you conceded to return to Hogwarts…" Cecilia closed her eyes in a slow blink, before returning his look of determination with one of her own.

"When I returned home, though I knew roughly about genetic biology, Nick Smith more than helped us, as I knew he would. He allowed me to test the samples then, and he has extended his offer now. He works, Severus, at a nuclear energy production company roughly fifty miles west from here, by the coast, although you'll be better off speaking to Tonks." She smiled warmly, contrasting to Snape's own impassive expression. "You can replace my assistance easy enough with as much effort as you are putting in to entice me back to Hogwarts," she added, with finality.

"You belong at Hogwarts," replied Snape bluntly, advancing on Cecilia like a roc descending on its prey, speaking as if he hadn't heard anything she'd just said and for a split second she thought he was about to seize her arms in his outstretched hands. Instead, watching Cecilia sink to the chair below her, he curled them closed and fell silent.

"We've been through this, Severus," sighed Cecilia, looking down at the patterned print of her skirt before looking back to him, speaking honestly to her colleague and friend. "I would dearly, _dearly_ love to return, to make sure that the potion is right for Harry. I mean, we've been talking about a spectrum of ability, which might have consequences for everything we've done …" she trailed off, hoping that Snape would nod in confirmation as she gestured towards her notes. When he did so, she continued.

"Naturally you want to make sure that Harry's safe, I understand that. But I'm here. With Remus. Where I need to be. He needs me; he's got no-one else…we're just going to have to make do with what – " Cecilia broke off suddenly as a loud bang came from the kitchen making her jump and her shocked expression turned into a smile as Remus Lupin opened the adjoining door into the living room.

"Cecilia- " Remus began as she took a step towards him, taking in his fraught appearance and demeanour, but his gaze drew a line from her face to the immobile form of Snape.

"Lupin," intoned Snape as Remus closed the door behind him and stepped past Cecilia, hovering in front of her.

"Snape," he returned, "what were you discussing?" He stared back at Snape, folding his arms and Cecilia placed a hand on his arm.

"We were talking about – " she began, gesturing towards her notes on the coffee table.

" – Cecilia's return to Hogwarts," finished Snape, continuing to return Remus's stare.

"Which I have told Severus is out of the question," she reinforced, folding her arms as Remus turned to look at her.

"Indeed," said Remus to Snape, taking a step towards Cecilia then he turned to her, his hostile expression softening a little.

"Have you got everything sorted out that you needed to?" Cecilia glanced across at Snape.

Not really, she thought, you arrived before we had had a chance to arrange anything. Remus followed her gaze again and Cecilia abandoned her search for choice words to describe this when Snape nodded stiffly.

"Not quite, darling," replied Cecilia, touching his arm softly as he continued to stare at Snape and she felt him flinch under her touch. "A few minutes' more and we will have…"

The next half an hour was painful. Remus returned to the kitchen, leaving Cecilia and Snape to finish off their work in the living room although he was clearly not happy doing so. Every so often a bump or a crash diffused into the living room and Cecilia was sure he was attempting to prepare dinner without using magic. At the same time, Cecilia was had been trying to conclude her work with Snape with increasingly desperate rapidity but if the wizard had any intention of leaving in a hurry he wasn't showing it – indeed, he seemed even more physically stoical than he had done earlier.

Then Remus re-entered the living room, pacing around and gazing wistfully out of the window, saying nothing before eventually, Snape folded her research notebook closed, handing it to Cecilia before making his way towards him.

"Spectacular view," he commented, looking in the vague direction of Remus's stare. "Very…quiet and off the beaten track."

"Whereas you return to the hustle and bustle of school," commented Remus, turning sharply and narrowing his eyes. "Where one can disguise questionable actions with the greatest of ease."

Before Cecilia's eyes, Snape made to step towards Lupin, his body tense and immobile. Then, he turned back towards Cecilia.

"If there's anything else Mrs Frobisher," he said, looking at her intently again. "You can Owl me…or send a note with Lupin, or speak to me at the next Order meeting."

"I'll be resigning," she said, smiling reassuringly at Remus. Snape said nothing, but nodded once, stiffly.

"Your presence and contribution there will be missed," he added and Cecilia felt herself wanting to ask Severus Snape what it was he wanted to say as she watched Remus pad softly across the living room carpet, coming to rest next to her.

"I can Owl you," Cecilia confirmed as Remus took her by the hand and now, seeing his face reflected in the early evening glow that was irradiating the room she noticed for the first time his haggard and gaunt expression. "It was lovely seeing you," she added, glancing away from Remus before looking between the two wizards who were now both openly glaring at one another. Snape broke eye contact first, nodding at Cecilia before disapparating. It was only when he had gone that Remus bared his pained expression bodily, slumping heavily onto the settee and staring at the carpet.

"I didn't know he was coming, Remus – " Cecilia began, sitting next to him and taking his hand. She held it firmer when he didn't curl his own back, as he usually did before looking up at her, momentarily through narrowing eyes issuing immediate doubt at her words, before slumping further back, allowing his head to touch the stitched rest at the top of the cushions. Cecilia continued to hold his hand, remaining quiet for a time as he stared straight ahead, before tentatively asking, " – what's wrong, love?" Remus turned from an imaginary spot on the dulled flowery wallpaper above the fireplace to look at Cecilia and she had to swallow down a gasp when she saw his expression.

"I knew they'd find out eventually," he sighed, holding her hand tighter now as he sighed the words in her direction and Cecilia's heart gave a brief flutter of joy that he was not angry at her before its wings were clipped with the resignation in his voice. "The werewolf code..."

And Remus began to slowly reveal to Cecilia how he had been summoned to the ministry to give testimony under a new security law, detailing his possible breaking of the code, how his name had appeared in the reports sent to the ministry and his actions on the night of the Great Battle had been cross-referenced to the registration records they had. How he would now be facing charges of endangering wizards through his actions and that he had been formally reprimanded that afternoon before being escorted back to the cottage by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"But you apparated just now," Cecilia said when Remus had returned to focusing on the chimney breast wallpaper. "That's all you've ever done. And the forest was deemed a secure area for known werewolves to – "

"The code has been amended!" Remus snapped; though not at her its unexpected tone made Cecilia start. "But apparitions by werewolves…they've never been allowed! I just – " Remus's voice became softer as he spoke, as if fighting the urge to tell her and fighting the urge not to. "I just forgot to remember not to apparate or disapparate these last few months here. The worst was having to tell Dumbledore that I'd forgotten, which meant – "

Which means you can't continue with whatever task he'd given you. Cecilia read the remainder of the sentence from Remus's features which he was unable to prevent from betraying him.

"So you might as well pack up your bags and we can Owl Snape together to take you back to Hogwarts, seeing as that's why he was here," he added bitterly, turning away from Cecilia once more.

Resisting the urge to withdraw her hand and incite an argument, Cecilia closed her hand more firmly around his before uttering quietly, "…even if he were I would no more go with him than you would…"

And then her Remus returned, back from temporary leave, ousting the stand-in as quickly as he had been posted. He got to his feet and pulled Cecilia with him, holding her tightly in his arms before kissing the top of her head.

"…it's still the wrong time," he said to her raggedy parting. "Some months are worse than others…one more night and it'll be out of my system..."

"…you had every right to be upset," replied Cecilia to his second-best shirt, huffing her breath onto the copper buttons, "you didn't know Severus was going to be here, especially after a formal reprimand…" she trailed off as Remus pushed her back a little, holding onto her waist as he looked at her questioning expression.

"I never asked you," he said, looking at her intently. "All this time, and I never thought to even ask you…"

"Ask me?"

"We could go to live in muggle world," he continued, a beam of light lancing its way daringly through his disheartened expression. "Especially now – " Remus broke off. He had no choice: Cecilia had pressed her lips against his own and had prevented him from the liberty of speech.

"That's running away," she said firmly as she broke off from her one-woman invasion. "Whatever comes of this reprimand, I'll be with you. We'll be facing it together." She felt Remus's response more than saw it: behind her hands that were entwined round his back his sigh of obvious relief washed like a wave and Cecilia hugged him closer. They stood together in each other's embrace for a while before Remus's quietly breathed words drifted past her ear, "…you're wonderful…"

"Have you had anything to eat?" Cecilia asked his chest again. She felt his head shake across the top of her head.

"In that case," she continued, leaning backwards and looking at him, "I'll make something and then…why not floo Sirius and talk to him? I've got some work to be getting on with, and he's bound to be able to give you better advice than me."

A fleeting look of uncertainty passed across Remus's features before he retaliated for her earlier daring attack on his primeval senses. Kissing her on the forehead he loosened his grip, following her into the kitchen.

"Your work, is that something to do with what Snape was talking to you about?" He sat down at the small table in the kitchen as Cecilia scrutinised the shelves as she sought inspiration for supper.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling at her lover. "The potion, mainly. How does an omelette sound?"

Following their supper of mushroom and cheese omelette, salad and finishing with banana surprise (the surprise was that the banana was the only ingredient), Cecilia took herself off to their bedroom. Downstairs she heard Remus putting away the kitchen utensils and crockery which she suspected, despite his protests that he liked doing it the muggle way he had done by magic, and she waited to pick up her notebook until she heard the interconnecting kitchen-living room door close with its familiar click.

Trying not to speculate on whether Remus had taken up her suggestion to floo Sirius, Cecilia propped herself up on a linen-encased pillow, bending her knees and propping the book of notes (both legitimate and illicit) upon them, scanning through the information within as her hitherto dormant thoughts began to spring back to life, like a Jack being released from its box.

…all the things she, Cecilia Jane Frobisher must do…

…she had to find a way through…she must. She must find a way to ensure Harry's potion worked, using their new theory as a key. She must make sure Remus was content, and that he didn't follow through his idea of abandoning the wizard world because of a misguided belief that she would abandon him to Snape. She must make a stand to those around them if anything came of this ministry. She must make sure Sirius believed her idea of curing Remus was only a hypothesis and that any hope she held of the notes in her possession leading her to the right answer she kept to herself. She must…she must…find…out…more…!

Find out more. Cecilia flicked through her notebook again, through the random collection of parchment and paper, written by many people at many different times for many different reasons. The pages therein had never meant to be lying next to one another…yet they were…accumulated for so many different reasons.

And now, above all of this, the only way out of the quagmire of dead-ends and false trails was to answer the unanswered questions.

Tearing out piece of paper Cecilia picked up a pen from off her bedside table, flicking on the lamp that was beside it so its light would better illuminate the page's empty whiteness.

If she were to find out the answers to her questions she needed a person who had access to Hogwarts library, someone who had reason to be in them searching for information at this time of year. Someone to whom the page of open-ended general questions would not be seen as an obstacle and at the same time her entire meaning would be understood. To whom Cecilia would receive a response in an equally eloquent manner. Someone who (Cecilia added, scorning herself a little as she thought the words) _owed_ her.

Gripping the biro more firmly, Cecilia cast her gaze across the vastness of the empty page, beguiling her to commit something to its indelible heritage, tempting her to bare her soul upon it where the words would herald long after she was gone. With great restraint Cecilia restricted herself to:

"…wizard powers, their strength, range and onset…permanent afflictions of wizards and muggles: lycanthropy…effects of an unforgivable curse…a witch's view of science in the context of magic…the soul…"

After each sentence, Cecilia left a line, as if it were a list, before adding the word "horcrux" at the end of the last one. Another sentence she added, explaining her information famine, before posing three more chemistry-related questions at the bottom of the page. One more sentence asking the recipient to reveal the information to no-one and Cecilia had finished, before folding the now sullied page into three.

With a slightly guilty heart, Cecilia stowed the letter inside her cardigan pocket that she had hung on the back of the bedroom door, before returning to bed. Her mind rested on Remus's eventual habitation of the bed next to her and, as she heard the cuckoo clock cuckoo six, she pulled her notes once more onto her angled lap, allowing its corners to nestle into the folds of the handmade quilt as she heard a familiar "whoosh" of floo powder igniting in a hearth just below her.

Inside the cardigan pocket the name "Hermione Granger" left a brief ink stain on the garment's pale blue fibres.

88888888

Two brooms circling the skies above Hogwarts castle in the late evening sunshine signalled to Hagrid that wizards were approaching. From his vantage point on the viaduct that joined the rocky outcrop before the Owlery and the castle's east wing he speculated on which wizards would be arriving by broom at such an hour. The students were set for return he knew, in two days' time but to his knowledge all of the teaching staff had already returned.

Making for the outside steps that curled round the East tower Hagrid descended awkwardly, his bulk making him land on his feet heavily as he made his way to the secret entrance to Dumbledore's office. One tap of his fist against two of the large sandstone blocks – pause – another two taps each and then a kick just below the last step of the staircase and doorway appeared. Hagrid stepped through quickly, tucking his beard away from the diminishing entrance (he'd made that mistake before) and then up the steps that technically should have been the foot-thick walls of the tower themselves.

At the top of the stairs he repeated the pattern that had allowed him access below before stepping into Dumbledore's office.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, not looking up from the parchment that he was reading. "And how may I be of assistance to you?"

"Professor Dumbledore sir!" panted Hagrid, whose hitherto-mentioned journey had become somewhat more challenging for the elderly gamekeeper of late. "Brooms! Unknown visitors! You don't think – " At the headmaster's raised hand, Hagrid broke off.

"Relax, Hagrid. It's only the ministry," said Dumbledore serenely.

"Only the ministry?! _Only _the ministry!" exclaimed Hagrid in bewilderment. "Begging your pardon but how can you say that after yesterday…?" This time Hagrid's voice trailed off and he stood on one of Dumbledore's best rugs, the remnants of Fang's dinner seeping disgustingly from one of his pockets before re-colouring the paler fibres in a dark claret. He had enough grace to look embarrassed.

"The ministry have seen fit to appoint a muggle studies teacher and an inspector to ensure my running of the school is appropriate. I expect that they are the wizards aloft at the moment, although I am certain that they will be alighting and making their way up here in order to tell me that they will be at the staff meeting tomorrow."

"An inspector?" asked Hagrid, stepping over the dubious leakage that had stopped oozing now, leaving a footprint on the rug. "You don't mean to tell me that after all these years they don't think you're running the place properly?" Dumbledore looked at Hagrid again, conveying in a single look that he was indeed correct about the ministry's motivations.

"They believe that Mrs Frobisher's presence was a gross misjudgement on my part and the subsequent battle that was perpetrated just outside school grounds was a situation that endangered the students. I am not, as I expected I would be, removed from the school and it must be seen as a blessing that the ministry are involved with the teaching of children. Now if you'll excuse me, Hagrid," concluded Dumbledore, rising from his chair and crossing over to pet Fawkes, tickling him about the comb, "I had better find Undersecretary Umbridge and Miss Penwright and welcome them warmly to the school." He nodded to an immobile Hagrid, who was still standing on his misdemeanour, blushing red in embarrassment.

"Thank you for thinking to inform me of possible intruders, Hagrid. And as for the blood, I know of a few charms that will eradicate it from an Ali-Baba Persian carpet. One swift fly around the castle and it'll be as good as old."

Dumbledore was indeed correct that Umbridge and Tabitha Penwright were the ministry officials who had been circling around one of the taller towers of the castle however he was entirely mistaken in his assumption that they were on their way to see him. Indeed, Umbridge told Tabitha when they finally descended into the courtyard adjacent to the entrance of the Great Hall the very last person they would be looking for was Dumbledore as the curriculum of the school was no longer in his hands. Furthermore, Umbridge continued as a house-elf came to collect their brooms and travel cases, their audit of the school that they were to undertake that evening was not Dumbledore's concern though they would probably endeavour to meet him tomorrow, out of courtesy, before they attended the staff meeting.

Looking furtively round at the surroundings Tabitha said nothing on the subject and followed her boss apprehensively, who was now making her way towards the teaching rooms. It was bad enough that she'd agreed to come and teach here in the first place and not been brave enough to have said no to Umbridge (as Vincento had told her she ought to have done) but now she had let her boss bring her back here, to Hogwarts, now with an impending staff meeting to have to attend. Taking the clipboard that Dolores Umbridge was waving in her direction and glancing down at the long list Tabitha shuddered at the thought before following her boss apprehensively into the transfiguration classroom.

Ordinarily Tabitha would have delighted in the beautiful journey that she had undertaken with Dolores Umbridge, skimming the clouds joyfully as they left London and flew North, through the beautiful weather, high pressure promising the endurance of summer as the fragrant fields below them shed their perfumes which soared through the troposphere and surrounded them gloriously. She would have appreciated the fresh air and exhilaration would have filled her with the happiness the joy that she used to feel on days like these which were the backdrop to her memories of family days out, when her father was still alive, when they would drive out into the Kent countryside with a picnic that her mother had made when she and her brother were younger, and they would go off together playing for hours and hours. When she had not known about her magical abilities…when she was a normal person…before her Letter…

That she was flying towards the destination which was only a name on a piece of yellowing paper all those years ago, where Tabitha's woes, mere events in the future at the moment that she read the words on the page in blissful ignorance, were withheld cruelly by blue skies and green woodland trees that were her backdrop then…

…and not only had Tabitha Penwright's discomfort not abated, but they had increased the following day as she sat in the staff-room at the end of the teachers' quarters, feeling the stares of the witches and wizards present boring into her face as she listened to Umbridge outline the involvement of the Ministry. From the expressions on the faces of the staff before her it must have been plain to Umbridge that, other than the precursory letters that Dolores had sent beforehand the Hogwarts professors were ignorant of the impending change in proceedings when the school returned.

They had met one or two of them as they had done their rounds the previous evening before happening upon Minerva McGonagall who had insisted they visit the headmaster once Dolores had told her why they were there. Dumbledore had been most courteous to both of them, escorting them to the Great Hall and instructing the same house elf who had taken their brooms to bring them supper and make up two beds in the teachers' quarters. But instead of feeling reassured that they were being welcomed so graciously, something Umbridge had endeavoured to convey to her retiring to bed, Tabitha was feeling increasingly insecure and apprehensive at returning to her old school.

Silently she tried to ignore the knot of tension in her stomach as some of her old teachers (who were to be Tabitha's near-future colleagues) glanced between her and Umbridge as her boss addressed them and instead she listened intently to Dolores as she outlined the curriculum that would be taught by each of the teachers, handed out the weighty documents that detailed the finer points that should be covered and listed the main points of the observations and performance management that she would undertake in just over a months' time.

"So, you are here to spy on us then!" declared Professor Sprout, looking sharply over the large tomes that were heading in the direction of each teacher in turn and poking a podgy finger towards Umbridge who was standing in the centre of the circle of teachers. "You are here to check up on our teaching!" Tabitha watched Dolores Umbridge smile in the Herbology teacher's direction and the soon-to-be muggle-studies teacher felt her cheeks begin to flush red as her boss nodded slowly. Dolores had spoken of her unwritten mandate, which was to check for malpractice and the eradication of any teaching that the ministry deemed to compromise the new security measures. That, Tabitha had taken to mean, meant the realm of non-magic: muggles.

"Why of course," she replied, to the now silent staff and Tabitha felt like she was watching a crash happen in slow motion before her very eyes. "The ministry needs to be satisfied that your headmaster does not permit a repetition of these disgraceful happenings that occurred upon these very grounds." Umbridge gripped her parchment that now contained details of the teaching classrooms which she and Tabitha had compiled the evening before, and the new officer for standards in education looked at the headmaster of Hogwarts. As a wizard, so did the teaching body. Tabitha however, had now lost her nerve and she focused intently on Umbridge's long list of discovered misdemeanours that were unfurling still further onto the red velvet carpet.

"Think of me as a critical friend, Dumbledore," Dolores Umbridge continued, before casting her narrowing eyes across the wizarding teaching staff again. "In the same way that I now answer to Minister Fudge you, through me, also answer to him.

"Preposterous!" declared Professor Flitwick, his voice originating from knee-height. "I have worked in this school for nearly fifty years and not once have I ever had to answer to the Ministry!" Tabitha glanced at the diminutive charms teacher, his face glowing red with fury and it appeared that he had voiced what many of the other teachers were also thinking.

"Calm yourself, Filius," said Dumbledore softly but before he could continue with a diplomatic pacification Umbridge had already picked out what Tabitha knew to be the misdemeanours that they had discovered in the charms classroom.

"…so you are claiming that your teaching of a veiling charm designed to protect muggles from impending attack is acceptable, do you?" Umbridge stabbed at the parchment that she had allowed to unfurl onto the floor, looking over her pink-framed spectacles. "I do not recall this charm being ministry-approved." Flitwick's face continued to glow red but in embarrassment now and he sat silently and lost for words before them all.

"…experimental magic, unapproved magic…" Umbridge muttered as she continued to work her way down the list. "It would seem that Miss Penwright and I have got here just in time. From an audit of your facilities yesterday evening, Dumbledore, we discovered over fifty counts of indiscretions. Such teaching in the future would deem any lessons that your staff would deliver to the students of this school unacceptable. What do you have to say?"

Tabitha looked across at Dumbledore, who was wearing the same expression of serenity that he had been wearing when she first met him, almost sixteen years ago when he had welcomed her to the school and declared somewhat unusual start as a gift. Some gift, Tabitha had often thought bitterly since that day, before gasping inwardly as Dumbledore's gaze met hers very briefly and she immediately glanced away.

"We have been closed since February, Madam," replied Dumbledore, gesturing in Umbridge's direction before encompassing the vast panorama of the castle. "With the exception of the kind communal of information regarding Miss Penwright's arrival in the capacity of Muggle Studies teacher nothing whatever to do with any discrepancies has been mentioned before your enthusiastic audit of my school last night." He glanced between Snape and McGonagall who were both staring accusingly at Umbridge – they had paid particular attention to both of their classrooms, Tabitha recalled.

"That's as maybe," nodded Umbridge dismissively folding her arms, taking a few steps towards the still-silent Tabitha and handing her the re-furled list. "You have the month until I return, in addition to Miss Penwright's _other _work – " here she raised her left eyebrow in Snape's direction and Tabitha's heart sank as the Mysteriour-shaped hole in her working premise was replaced by the stone-faced livid-looking wizard and she continued to wonder vaguely what exactly her role there would entail as Umbridge continued, " – who will return tomorrow once she is ready-equipped for her taxing responsibility."

Ignoring the eyes upon her Tabitha felt her heart rise back to its place in her chest as the news of her reprieve enveloped her: a day. On hold was the enveloping abyss that she had imagined her future hitherto to be. One day where she could make good her work at the Ministry, speak to Vincento, and make the best of it before she returned…her mind drifted to her office, the dark and cavern-like room where she spent the best hours of her day… Vincento had opened the pile of letters on his desk she noticed, and the filing cabinets that contained accounts of the events during the battle at Hogwarts had gone …all that time she had spent on piecing together information wasted…

"When you have quite finished daydreaming, Penwright," Tabitha jumped as Umbridge's voice penetrated her consciousness and she turned in the direction of her boss's voice. As she did so, she realised that they were quite alone in the small staffroom, the sunlight from the large Gothic-like windows their only other companion. "The sooner we return to the Ministry, the sooner you'll be back here. Maybe even those wretched children you'll have to teach will be of some use to us." A smile played on Dolores Umbridge's toad-like features as she glanced unapologetically at the oak-panelled walls, before slapping a large hand on Tabitha's shoulder, making her jump. "Though I'm sure you won't need it," she continued silkily. "Penwright, I am confident that under your particular brand of expertise Hogwarts will soon yield its secrets."

88888888

…an Autumn wedding…

…standing outside a church set on a hillside watching the vernal sunlight glinting off the mid-morning dew that still clung determinedly to the shaded copper leaves, Cecilia smiled. People were gathering around the Norman arch entrance, greeting other people as cars drew up, dropping them off, hugging them and shaking hands. Cecilia continued to watch from her vantage point as her mother and father (miraculously resurrected from his heart attack fifteen years ago) welcomed the guests who mingled and milled on the gravel before the church. She made her way forward, smiling ever happier as she marvelled at how her sister's lithe frame managed to beautify the plain cream dress that she was wearing, much as she had done the last time she had played the role of chief bridesmaid for Cecilia.

And before she could drink in any more of the scenery Libby hugged her, her bump pressing on Cecilia's stomach as her best friend wished her luck before Freya bounded over too, determined not to miss out on hugs as she cast aside her basket of flowers, much to her mother's dismay…and then they were heading in, her arm entwined in her father's as they trod carefully on the red velvet carpet, the Amy and Libby…heading towards the altar to become Mrs Lupin…she swept her head right, and then left; the pews' occupants contrasting outrageously with one another…

…same sun whose light had intruded early that morning into a conversation over a hundred miles away had arched the sky making a glorious Monday was now creeping its evocative rays through a small glass window, illuminating a burgundy liquid that was cooling off on a cork ring. Cecilia blinked as reality stole in from the peripherals of her vision and she stared consciously at its iridescence as she pondered the night before.

Remus had seemed much calmer and more himself after his conversation with Sirius and he had kissed her goodnight in his usual manner, though she had been awoken by his tossing and turning in the early hours of the morning before finally he had got up and gone downstairs. Cecilia hadn't followed him: this formal accusation was affecting him greatly she'd thought and, as the kitchen door had creaked loudly open, it was clear, she reasoned, that he needed his own space to come to terms with it himself before she could be there for him.

Taking up the flask on the bench before her she filled the corner of the room with steam which poured from the vessel as Cecilia ran it under the cold water of the tap in the corner of the utility room. Almost immediately as it had been released the steam condensed onto the windows, fogging them.

If she was leaving him to himself, she reasoned, then why was there an anxious knot in her stomach?

It had been worse that morning: she had arisen when she heard a tapping on a window downstairs so she went to shoo away the owl that was making it and it was only when it had flapped nonchalantly away with its burden of rolled paper that she realised with rising panic and indignant annoyance that Remus had left without saying goodbye. Her annoyance then had been replaced by fear: fear for his safety and it had crossed Cecilia's mind that she should Owl, floo or write to Dumbledore. Fear gave way to resignation; he hadn't wanted her to know where he was, or what he was doing and Cecilia had sighed inwardly to herself before proceeding with potion blend No. 30, carefully and deliberately putting aside her work on a possible werewolf cure.

The familiar procedural nature of her analysis had been a salve to Cecilia's emotional wounds and, as she busied herself with the potion, chopping herbs, grinding seeds, assembling for a distillation, and her mind had daydreamed to…

…well her wedding to Remus wouldn't be anything close to what she had fantasised about that afternoon. For a start, her father and best friend would definitely not be available, nor her mother, sister and little Freya. And would – could – they marry in a church at all? She and Tim had, and Cecilia remembered the time-consuming procedure of paperwork to show that he attended church. How would a vicar react when he met Remus Lupin?

And at once the crushing sadness and deep guilt that Cecilia still felt about her friend's death and her part in Libby's downfall weighed on her chest like an anvil. She – Cecilia – was alive, here, working in this little room on something full of wonder and of a fantastic nature. She was living with a man she loved and working for a worthwhile cause while Freya would grow to maturity without her parents. Nothing in the world would put that right.

It was something she could not share, even with Remus. It was not fair to burden him with the knowledge that she bore that their world, and inadvertently, the muggle world, had suffered with more grief than she could ever have imagined.

Burying her sorrow Cecilia shook her head, focusing back on the blend of number 30 which was now cool and she returned it to the still, warming the bottom of the flask gently. It shouldn't be long now, Cecilia thought, watching as random gas bubbles rose up, bursting intermittently on the surface as the crystallised mark just above the level of the liquid became part of the potion again and Cecilia began to daydream again, this time about happier times with her best friend and she didn't hear the latch on the back door click open.

Remus Lupin crossed the kitchen floor of the cottage, whose character had not changed since the first moment he had crossed it almost thirty years ago. Then, he had been holding his father's hand, watching as Dad's black robes bounced off the surface of the large tiles. He remembered staring at those same orange and brown flowery tiles from his seat on the kitchen table onto which his father had deposited him before John Lupin had leaned on the door to the living room where his mother, Remus's grandmother, would be. Now, the tiles bore the same pattern and, in essence, they were the same as they were then; thirty years had brought with them age however, and small patches were beginning to wear away. But they were still the same tiles.

Just as I am still the same as I was then, thought Remus, as his eyes traced the contours of the chrysanthemum picked out in orange as he used to, just the same. Sullied. Tainted. Sub-wizard…

He reached the door of the utility room, once a larder where his grandmother stored everything and where often Remus would sit, just to be on his own. Now, the wooden worktops were being put to a different use by a different woman in his life. Cecilia Jane Frobisher's hair shone like a new knut in the evening sunlight as she busied herself with the work she was doing and Remus felt himself watching her in fascination as he used to do when she first came into their lives.

Remus's eye drifted from her hair across to the distillation that was simmering quietly over an old gas burner before drifting back to watch her as Cecilia manipulated a whole handful of anonymous herbs which she proceeded to pound underneath a pestle. It was only when his eyes came to rest on her ample derriere that he realised that he needn't just wish those thoughts that used to be his staple fare: she had promised to be his forever, and that was something special.

He wasn't the only wizard who had held that body, his treacherous thoughts reminded him. Not that he begrudged his friend; Sirius was at heart a womaniser. Remus could no more ask Molly Weasley to not fret over her children or Tonks to walk through a china shop without incurring a damages bill than expect him to act…unSirius-like. Not that it worried Remus now: his best friend was still his best friend now he had Cecilia in his life. Her work had brought her to him, and despite the true horrors that many of the people around him had suffered since the rise of Voldermort, she was most certainly not one of them.

Only…

…it was not just her work. Under that sweaty brow, brought on by her determination to pulverise the herbs under her hand, inside that mind which worked continually in its own marvellous way, some of her thoughts were given over to _him_.

Shaking his head, as if to dislodge an errant bee of an adverse contemplation from his mind Remus turned instead to examine his own decision about the happenings of the day. Just as he hadn't wanted to share with her what he had endured the day before he desired the events of the day to remain undiscussed and unshared. But Cecilia seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when there was something wrong and everything had come tumbling out the day before when he had seen her with Snape; his hackles had risen and he had become defensive.

A creak of the floorboards under Remus's foot made Cecilia turn and as soon as she saw him he smiled at her, a wave of happiness passed through him.

"How long have you been there?" she asked, crossing over the floor and planting a kiss on his cheek before locking her hands behind his back. "Where were you this morning? I was worried…"

"Order-stuff," he said, hoping he sounded casual enough for his apprehension to go unnoticed. "I'm sorry it took so long, love." He returned her kiss, tasting a sweet tang on her lips as her warm body pressed against him. "And you?"

"The potion," she replied, looking back at the simmering brew. "It'll be good to get this one done, I really think this is the turning point, you know?" Unlocking her hands, she moved back over to the potion blend and reduced the gas flame so the bubbles of the liquid began to reduce.

"No," he replied, looking with interest at the potion. "I wasn't bad myself at school." He flicked over a couple of pages in her notebook, nodding in recognition at some of the ingredients. "Honeysuckle…garner-roots…" he murmured, glancing at the potion. "How different this is to the potion I remember making with such ingredients. I suppose it's something scientific…" he glanced across to Cecilia hopefully. There was a pause.

"Would you like me to explain what I've got here?" she asked, slightly too quickly and she registered the pained expression on his face. "What I mean to say is that it's actually quite straightforward, really."

"It's just – " began Remus, but Cecilia interrupted him, shaking her head dismissively.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"It's nothing, really," she replied, turning away from Remus. "I'm doing what I can do, it's not complicated," she added, folding her arms.

"Can you tell me about this one, no. 30? The one that's so special?" asked Remus, looking again at the potion. Cecilia shrugged, dismissively.

"But you could tell Severus Snape, that's who you could tell…" Remus's accusation was barely hostile, but its pitiful character struck at Cecilia and she turned in shock.

"Why is your work never good enough for me to know?" he added reproachfully.

"Why is yours?" she retorted, refolding her arms defensively. "I don't know what you do when you go out every morning. Why do you need to know everything about this?" Silence reigned momentarily before she added, "…because he turned up, and asked me. Don't you want me to do the work?" Remus looked away, holding his head in the way she remembered him doing every so often…when he gave her "Mysterious Mythology,"; when she caught him up early on the day that he and Tonks had accompanied her back to work to analyse the hair samples all those months ago. The stance he had taken when he had been criticised by Sirius for defending her at the Order ball. Cecilia unfolded her arms and took a few steps towards him.

"I want none of us to do it…" he replied, walking towards her. They met halfway and caught her in his arms. "I want it to be just us…" He kissed her on the head, and Cecilia pulled her away, smiling at his confused frown.

"Come on, we can do it quicker together," she said, leaning over and handing him a bundle of thyme and a pestle and mortar.

"But how – "

"You know the standard wizard spells…you know about potions…?" Remus nodded dumbly. "Well, show me, then…"

And for the next hour, Mr and soon-to-be Mrs Lupin worked on the next potion, the one that might be _the one_ that could hasten the end to the reign of terror that Voldermort had evoked. Remus carried out some of the more simple spells, recording the results faithfully and accurately while Cecilia set up a second still for the next batch of ingredients where she tested a variation in the ratio of ragwort and wintergreen, discussing with Remus the fundamentals of science in terms of cause and effect and hoping that her enthusiasm for the potion did not inadvertently extend to her excitement at her discovery of a possible cure.

Once they had come to a natural end, Remus took Cecilia in his arms again, inhaling the fragrances that had infused between the strands of her hair. He was happy to see her happy, though more so that she had not mentioned Snape again and his relaxation had caused Cecilia to relax too. After a time, still standing in the utility room, Cecilia pulled away to look at him.

"Can we marry in the muggle world?" Her question hung between them for a few moments before Remus wriggled his moustache momentarily, smiling wanly at her.

"You're _not _happy," he concluded, as if the truth had come out at last.

"I am very happy, and I would be happier to call myself Mrs Remus John Lupin. But that's not likely to happen in the wizard world in the near future, is it?"

"So if you're happy," continued Remus, smiling at her as if talking to a child, "what does a piece of paper matter?"

"It matters," replied Cecilia in equally deliberate tones, "while this war is going on. It matters…" She trailed off, wondering how she could convey her meaning when words did not seem to be an adequate vehicle.

"We will marry in the wizard world as soon as we possibly can," he whispered, reaching up and stroking her hair, "even if its in the shrieking shack with the ghosts for company…"

…in her mind her fantasy of a church with her mum, sister and Freya evaporated and was replaced by the windswept Northumbrian mountains which had been the backdrop to her home for the last nine months and she looked up at Remus again with a look of panic on her face.

"It's just…I don't ever want you to leave…you go out and during the day…I worry so much about you…I worry when you go to an Order meeting that you'll have agreed to do something stupid…I'm worried that one day you'll be killed for all of this…" Hot tears of pent up concern were suddenly released and she wiped her hands clumsily across her face. Remus pulled her closer and she buried her head into his shoulder.

"You worry too much…" Remus waited a few moments until Cecilia was quite still before tilting her chin so she was looking at him before kissing her tears. "I promise you…listen – " he put a finger on her quivering lip, " – I promise you that whatever happens, I will never leave you again…that's what's bothering you…?" Cecilia nodded silently as fleeting glimpses into her past…to Christmas and the note flood back in…

"What else is wrong?" asked Remus astutely and Cecilia proceeded to tell him an abbreviated and sanitised version of her feelings about her family and her best friend.

"…I just wish that they didn't have to have died…and that mum and Amy and Freya were closer…"

"They're safe," said Remus, stroking her hand. "I pop in when I can."

"Nxt time you do, can you take them this?" Cecilia leaned across to the notebook that Remus had been completing for her and slid a piece of paper from between the folds of the last couple of pages and she handed him Freya's drawing of Tippex the cat and her kittens that the young girl had drawn for Cecilia and her mother, Cecilia's best friend, had sent to her for her birthday. Remus smiled.

"And now for something for you..." Retrieving his wand he pulled a few strands of her reddish-copper hair before entwining it in a few strands of his own. Placing them on the worktop he flicked his wrist in their direction and Cecilia watched in awe as their hair intertwined before Remus landed it as a small knot in her hand. Then, he enchanted the knot of hair into a pendant which he had crafted from the one that Cecilia was wearing.

"It's an old spell, and not very potent," Remus explained softly. "It was one of the original spells, an Auld Magic spell. Our hair is bound, as are we."

"Its beautiful…" The words escaped her lips as she marvelled at the magic that she had witnessed. Auld magic. It was probably even older that marriage itself. Looking back at Remus, she traced her hand around his…

…and, next to potentially the most world-changing potion in the world, Remus's grandmother would definitely be astounded at the use her grandson was putting to her old store cupboard…

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The man in the office had waited for three agonising days before he had been contacted by Them. He had to call them something and in the absence of a name, or even a task, "Them" would have to do. They had contacted him by post, using a plain white envelope, heavily postmarked so as to conceal the design on the stamp and, as the man had stood in the toilet cubicle of the first floor, mid-journey between the office's post room and his desk he had hastily opened it, taking care to keep hold of the lapel-end that he had torn away from the body of the envelope.

It was not unheard for such organisations to wait for the trail to go cold, and he had been expecting to be contacted much later in any case but, as an impatient person by nature, the man had been at best distracted from his job and family over the last few days, so much so that even his wife had noticed.

Inside was a second, much smaller envelope, which the man knew better than to open here and, as he hastily stowed it away in the inside of his jacket pocket before fantasising about the possible places where he would become immersed into this up to his elbows. It wasn't until his hand began to grow rapidly hot that he refocused on the here-and-now, staring in shock as the large, now-empty envelope spontaneously combusted.

A breezy early summer evening wafted the leaves of the plants set within the ornamental hanging baskets that lined the Brighton promenade. After a hasty phone-call from his non-registered mobile phone to that of his wife he informed her he was working late. Patience is what he needed, he reminded himself as the sea in the English Channel reflected the westerly sunlight on its crests as the waves gradually flowed towards the beach, hastening a rising tide as the small envelope that remained within his jacket pocket burned as hot as a branding iron.

Two hours later when he could wait no longer the man pulled open the small envelope, removing the single sheet of paper from its slim confines and, as he scanned he blank paper in alarm, turning it over and over in his haste he almost dropped the offending article as there came a rap on the window.

He hadn't heard the car approach, he knew. Or maybe he was so engrossed in the confusion that was the blank sheet of paper in an envelope where there should have been instructions he simply hadn't heard it arrive. He got out, and the man spoke to him, asking him simply to confirm his name. He then took the blank paper from the man's unresisting grip and replaced it with a brown package, sealed with red wax, before jumping back into the car that had arrived before disappearing.

It was only when the man had returned to his own car, driven at speed to a deserted children's playground twenty miles away that his confused mind registered the fact that the car had indeed disappeared, not simply retreated into the distance. He put the thought aside as he switched on the small reading light in his Mercedes, unwrapping the package that he had been given, looking briefly at the book before flicking through it with his thumb. No note, the man realised, staring at the green binding of the cover. Nothing untoward. Opening it up, he discovered that it was a book containing children's stories…

Peeling back the front end papers he searched in vain for a clue, for anything that would reveal to him what he was supposed to be doing, the man cast it onto the passenger seat of the car wondering what he should do next. It wasn't until he was nearly home, the yellow street lights of the town in which he lived making the green cover glowing ethereally that a thought struck him. And when he pulled up onto the drive, noticing the curtains of the upstairs window twitch stiflingly the man threw the book into his briefcase vowing to contact his sister who owed him her help.

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It was Monday evening at Smeltings school. The boarding school, its year soon to be ending in less than six weeks was languishing in that end-of-term inertia has barely batted a collective eyelid at the arrival of a new face which had joined them suddenly that day. Not just a face: the young man in question had indeed every characteristic that a member of such esteemed school that was required: arrogance and money in equally lascivious abundance.

It was the arrogance (with an equal measure of disgust) that was particularly crystalline at present for, in a dormitory filled with a dozen beds this particular pupil had feigned illness and had been ushered off to the stiflingly hot room whose windows he had flung open shortly after being left alone just in time to prevent him from choking on the hideous stench that was the environment in which he found himself. He had been on his guard since the moment he had arrived at the wretched place, fighting his instincts to belittle and lay into each and every stupid muggle who had crossed his path.

Draco Malfoy knew why he was there, but it didn't soothe the burning anger that raged in his stomach. Throwing himself on the bed which the idiotic muggle dormitory warden had informed him in an agonisingly stupid manner was his, he thought about how the Dark Lord had stood before them both, in a forest in the west of England in his starkly diminished form. He had told them in a laboured and arduous manner that he was existing by a thread, living amongst the lowest of muggle society in order to survive.

Draco recalled the Dark Lord's form, weak and vulnerable; nothing like the Herculean figure that stood before the faithful on the night of his glorious return and remembered his father much later bestowing on him the knowledge that all of his followers who were neither imprisoned or killed each undertaking a task equally if not of more loathsome than the one he had promised to carry out.

Of course Father would say that, shouted Draco in the privacy of his own mind. He wasn't the one stuck here. He wasn't expected to interact and live with these hideous people! Surely his father could have done something?

Except of course Draco knew he couldn't. The Dark Lord had his own special means of extracting efficient loyalty; Draco himself had been removed from the actual proceedings but was given to understand that the Dark Lord asked each of them what they could offer him in service in his hour of need. Draco was given to understand that his father had originally declared that he had nothing of worth about which, under pressure he had changed his mind. And then, Draco knew, his father had decried the virtues of Snape.

Snape, ha. Anyone with half a brain could see that one coming. Perhaps his father could have asked him his opinion about what he should have offered the Dark Lord rather than telling him that he had nothing to offer! Never mind. But it had riled Draco that his father had offered his services to the Dark Lord because of his own inadequacies; what had angered him further was that his father had told his mother that the Dark Lord had ordered his despatch to the school.

And for what, to find out something they should know already but they had overlooked? Now he would have to endure this wretched place…

Draco gazed around the dormitory, nodding at the similarities it held to some of the rooms in Hogwarts. At least it was a school and, from what he had been able to discern from a day here already some traditions transcended magic and he could see how he could easily manipulate several aspects of it in the future. But here - ! The muggleness of it all made him wanted to scream! Everything reeked of animal idiocy and inability to such an extent that he could have cursed each and every one of them a thousand times over.

A flood of guilt passed through him and Draco Malfoy closed his eyes. The main reason he was here was because of the debt that he owed his father. The crest began to recede and further waves lapped over his consciousness. He only had himself to blame for his situation: it had been _he_ who had been the cause of sending his father false information, resulting in a brief and disparaging letter written in the third person and how he hoped Draco would never meet his "incompetent son".

As the evening drew in and darkness fell his blonde hair spilled over a flat pillow Draco Malfoy thought dark thoughts and cursed silently his own shortcomings.

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	8. The Phoenix's Resurrection

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: I really hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. If so, please review. Where do you think the plot is heading? What is going to happen? (I hope I can surprise you all!)

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It was early on Tuesday morning and Remus had brought both letters that had arrived at the kitchen window with him upstairs along with two mugs of steaming tea. Cecilia hadn't even noticed he'd got out of bed and shuffled to a sitting position as he "alohomora'd" the door open before putting down her letter on the wooden bedside table with a cup of black tea before sliding underneath the sheet and quilt next to her.

Following their disagreement the previous evening Remus had been much more attentive. They had agreed to deal with any possible law-breaking that he had committed whenever it was necessary. Cecilia had agreed to involve Remus more in the work that she had been doing, and they had spent a wonderful evening together pleasantly in each others' company pursuing pastimes other than work (Remus had unearthed a backgammon set that had belonged to his grandmother and had taught Cecilia how to play) and Cecilia had fought her curiosity to ask of him the details of telling herself that she should trust him to let her know if there was anything else to know.

She had even gone as far as to ask Remus whether it would be possible to visit a bookshop or a library in order to continue with her research and he had looked at her with an expression of horrified admiration before pointing out that it was too risky were she to be caught by a Death Eater, several of whom were on the loose, but promised to obtain some for her if she gave him a list. Cecilia had sighed with relief several times the previous evening, not least because their first argument had appeared to end very well indeed.

Breaking the seal of embossed two intertwined serpents Cecilia unfolded the parchment and glanced across the letter that Severus Snape had written to her, murmuring to Remus the author of the letter. He had written to her regarding further genetic traces of DNA and had clearly spent a long time over their analysis, asking her to confirm his conclusions of the bands that he had circled by return of post and Cecilia tried to work out which of her fourteen samples these traces had actually belonged to before turning to Remus. Her fiancé was carefully reading the letter that had arrived for him she handed him the traces that Snape had sent for her perusal.

"Hm," said Remus, putting down the letter he had received before scanning across the bands as if the were a barcode. "These are the things you got from your old work," he commented as a flash of inspiration hit him. "They are black and white stripes," he added, grinning at her.

"Yes, of course they are," replied Cecilia, pressing them towards him still. "Do you see anything important for the bands that Severus has circled here?" She pointed towards one on the first trace before pulling the second one over the top. "What can we say about them?"

"Hm," said Remus again, looking blank. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for." He looked at Cecilia for a clue to the mystery. Cecilia pointed at them again.

"You remember when I told you about genetics," said Cecilia patiently, stroking the back of his hand. "These bands represent different proteins that exist in the chromosomes of cells, the cells that make up humans…well, anything that's living, really," she added. "Ones that are similar at this end – " here she pointed to the circled bands, "indicate a genetic relationship between the two subjects.

"So the two people here are related to one another?" said Remus, looking back at the traces again. "Now, that really is interesting." Cecilia nodded and smiled.

"It means they are related to a certain extent; the bands here – " she pointed further along and to the right, "show that they are not siblings, nor parent-child or cousins. But they are related to one another somewhere along the line."

"Who do they belong to?" asked Remus, and Cecilia shook her head.

"I don't know, he's taken the labels off. A blind analysis," she added technically. "Anyway, who's your letter from?" She peered over towards Remus's bedside table trying to take a peek at the writing on the half-folded parchment.

"Dumbledore," said Remus, picking it up. "There's to be a meeting this afternoon at Grimmauld Place, an important one. For the Order", he added, smiling at Cecilia before proffering the letter. Cecilia shook her head.

"It's yours," she replied, holding up her hand. "I don't need to read it. A meeting?" Remus nodded. "Then perhaps you could give this back to Severus?" Jotting down a few notes on the back of the parchment, acknowledging his agreement over the continuum idea she scribbled a few more sentences describing her analytical diagnosis, that the similarities were on a different allele indicating a relationship between the donors of the samples, though not a close one. She also noted that one of the samples must be wizards as both "W" bands at the centre of the traces were present.

"So, what does Dumbledore have to say?" said Cecilia once she had finished her missive to her colleague before handing it over to Remus who had taken up his letter again. "What's so important that you're meeting in the afternoon?" She snuggled closer to him and Remus put his arm around her.

"I thought you weren't interested," he replied jokingly, hugging her close.

"I'm not," she replied, "just curious. Be to tender my resignation officially to Dumbledore," Cecilia added pressing a small envelope into her lover's hand as Remus kissed her on the forehead. "I take it you won't be back before then."

"No," admitted Remus, putting down the letter again before placing Cecilia's reply to Snape on top of it. "Dumbledore wanted the meeting early as the students arrive back at Hogwarts this evening. It's a good sign," he added, kissing the top of her head.

"What did he talk to the Order about the other night, then?" asked Cecilia, stroking his arm. "Last Friday?" Remus paused momentarily and hoped that she hadn't noticed.

"He wasn't there," Remus replied lightly. "Minerva chaired it."

"…wasn't there…?"

"He was at the Ministry, doing something important," Remus continued a little too quickly and continued to hold her close to his chest. "Something to do with the war. But if he had have been there I think he would have told us why he thinks Voldermort wasn't defeated in the great battle…"

Remus's voice trailed off in Cecilia's subconscious and her mind flicked to her conversation with Sirius a couple of mornings ago which she had given a great deal of thought to the same question. Why hadn't the potion worked as expected? Refusing to speculate, she looked up at Remus questioningly. "Did Minerva say?" He shook his head.

"But I have a feeling we'll know this afternoon." Remus moved her from his shoulder and rested her against her pillow. "So I'd better be off to get some work in before I'm needed there." Cecilia watched him get out of bed and dress, quickly before moving over to the door herself standing between it and Remus, holding onto both letters as he made to walk downstairs.

"When you give this to Severus can you let him know that the second trace seems to have a certain degree of chromosomal aberrations in the left hand side? It's something I just thought of." And why did that trace look so familiar?

"I'm not sure I really understand," Remus laughed, handing her the letter for Snape again. "I'll wait while you jot it down. I don't want to get it wrong and forget." He took it back from her once she had added a "PS", before pulling her close to him and kissing her on the lips.

"I'm sorry to have got so wound up yesterday," he whispered, his breath hot on her face.

You've said that three or four times in the last twelve or so hour, thought Cecilia. I know you're sorry you over reacted.

"I expect it's still Lunar Tension," she smiled, leaning towards him again and reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I got so into the work."

"Perhaps tomorrow then?" said Cecilia, decisively.

"For what?"

"To get some books of course. Perhaps we could go to Diagonalley, to Flourish and Blotts?" gave her a sharp look. "You're not on duty tomorrow, are you?" Remus shook his head.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," he replied sharply before adding, as he caught her uncertain look, "you'd be better off here, it's safer, my love." He took her hand and Cecilia felt herself nodding in agreement.

"So, is Sirius coming back tonight?"

"Only if you like, sweetheart. I could stop by the fire tonight…" his voice trailed off and Cecilia nodded. Alone together, even in his wolf form would be far more desirable than Remus gallivanting across the countryside with his best friend. Kissing him goodbye for the third time that morning, Cecilia heard him pad down the stairs and leave the cottage through the kitchen door before walking with quickening pace in the direction of Lannock Fell.

And that was it: life returned to normal, or as normal as you can get for a muggle woman engaged to a werewolf in hiding from the Ministry of Magic and evil wizards. Within half an hour Cecilia was up and dressed herself, standing in the utility room holding the mysterious notes about werewolves.

"It's you today," she said to the inanimate pages. "You are going to help me to help him." And silently to herself she added, even if I can't be sure exactly what I'm doing.

For the next hour Cecilia allowed hope to be her guiding light as she trawled through the mysterious notes and, as the liquid in the round-bottomed flask began to take on a brownish hue she began to speculate on scientific explanations for the observations made by the anonymous author. Luck had led her to an adaptation in the potion itself before she allowed herself her wild speculation: a description of some of the herbs had called for ones grown in "rich soil", a herbology term which Cecilia knew meant high in nitrates. Silver nitrate was her only source and so, using an ionic sublimation technique to liberate the nitrate ion from its inorganic compound she had managed to transform the tiniest amount of wolfsbane into a small amount of bronze-coloured liquid. While it was refluxing Cecilia put her mind to her many theories surrounding the potion and its meaning in muggle terms.

Find out how the wolfsbane works on werewolves scientifically, Cecilia thought to herself as she watched the liquid begin to bubble, then work out how to make it permanent. On the next clean page at the back of her notebook she wrote down these two statements, drawing a box around them. These were the starting point of her aim to cure lycanthropy, where her scientific research was to begin and, as the solution began to boil, Cecilia listed as many points as she could glean from her mind and wrote them down as a list underneath the starting point box before turning down the heat on the gas burner. Once the final point had been added, it was only then that she allowed her dammed-up speculations to be released from the slowly filling reservoir of her cerebellum.

One of the strongest and, Cecilia felt more accurate of her assumptions was of lycanthropy being a cellular disease. Some of the symptoms described in the notes matched those she had seen in Remus herself and were also very similar to those borne of malaria. That disease consisted of parasites using red blood cells in humans (and other organisms) as a host, beautifully adapted to hitch a lift within the cell itself in order to feast on the glucose that the cells were transporting. Other similarities to that disease were manifest in the cycle of reproduction of the parasites in malaria-infected patients – attacks of illness were prompted when the parasite reproduced. Looking back at her notes periodically, Cecilia was delighted to see that she had written down "cyclical symptoms" before and smiled at the link coming in from another angle.

Why did the moon have such an effect on a person affected by a werewolf bite, causing themselves to be werewolves too? It was the origin of one of the strongest forces to be felt on earth moving entire oceans in their tidal patterns and, when at its fullest in full opposition to the sun, when its polarising effects were at the most extreme, the greatest tides of all are caused, sometimes known, Cecilia reminded herself, to devastate cities with magnificence. During the full moon werewolves were instinctively driven to attack: Cecilia's scant knowledge of parasitology drew her to the conclusion that the disease itself was, in was way or another, of such sentience that it drove its host (i.e. the werewolf) to attack in order for its own survival.

Exhaling, Cecilia annotated the notes carefully in pencil with these, her own thoughts on the subject, before looked around the utility room. Glancing at the ever-darkening blend that was carefully boiling up to the required temperature and then re-condensing on the inside of the apparatus she tried not to think how close her inferences were to the mark…

…and then there were changes in the body. Cecilia had established that they must occur through manipulation of the DNA, werewolves' DNA must undergo a temporary transformation during this period, which the wolfsbane potion in its current form alleviated, minimising the other symptoms too.

Looking up from her hasty thought-fuelled note-making Cecilia sighed: it was all down to energy again, that which caused the changes. That was the simple part. Now for the hard part; refining the wolfsbane potion and maybe…find a cure…

…a dark brown liquid began to gurgle in a round-bottomed flask over the gas burner which, had Cecilia Frobisher taken a different route that morning, was where another trial batch of option no. 30 should have been. Cecilia deduced that this would mean that its properties would be altered enough to adapt its chemistry. Which meant…that it should have more profound effects on the subject.

Relief and frustration flooded Cecilia in equal measure as she looked at the reflux condenser which, when the solution had cooled to around 30 degrees Centigrade she would reassemble and turn into a distillation format. She had actually been able to modify the wolfsbane herb, endowing it with an unspecific potency. Which, for Cecilia knew, could be a cure for lycanthropy or an effective toxin. What she needed was information and there was only one way to get it: she needed to send the letter to Hermione.

Making her way upstairs Cecilia felt in the pockets of the cardigan still hung on the back of the door, unfolding it and scanning the list that she had written to her extra-curricular student before taking it over to the bedside table, flopping onto the bed. There, she leaned over and opened the top drawer which contained a biro and she added the words "wolfsbane research" and "chemical makeup".

Folding the letter in half again, Cecilia got back to her feet and dropped it inside her cardigan pocket before making her way back downstairs, her thoughts clicking into place with respect to potion no. 30.

As she began to prepare elm bark, shredding it into finer pieces Cecilia's mind then drifted to the letter that she had asked Remus to pass on to Severus regarding the DNA traces he had sent to her for her perusal. It had been too hasty, she told herself crossly. Severus had clearly spent an inordinate amount of time crafting the information on the parchment and all she had done was scribble a reply on the back of it.

Once the latest variation in the potion ingredients of no. 30 were simmering away under reflux, Cecilia hunted around for some paper and a pen so that she could begin to write another reply to Snape. She had not got the traces any more, those had been returned with her original letter via Remus that morning, so she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, the door of the utility room propped open so that she could keep an eye on the potion and on a sheet of paper torn from her notebook and a well-used Bic biro Cecilia began to write.

She began to describe in more detail what she had written this morning regarding the banding on the traces; that the parts he had indicated suggested the donors of the DNA samples were related though not closely and they were both wizards. Trying not to speculate on the wizards in question (although they must have been from the original fourteen samples that she had originally analysed) Cecilia pondered instead Snape's motivation for asking the question and wished with guilty longing that she could, even for just a few hours, be back in the potions classroom, sharing her understanding and forging new developments with him.

Folding the paper in half and leaving it on the kitchen table Cecilia proceeded back to the potion, removing the heat of the gas burner and allowing blend no. 30 to cool. It would need to be at room temperature when she added the wolfsbane to it (wolfsbane that part of Cecilia wished she could keep for her other research) and then it had to reflux again for a further hour or so. Excellent, she thought as she began to prepare the wolfsbane, using the flat edge of her knife to strip the leaves from the stem. And then I can ask Remus whether he could deliver this one to Severus, with this letter.

Returning to the table, Cecilia continued with her letter to Snape. He had claimed a genetic link between the subjects of the DNA traces and she had acceded to the claim before adding, "…unless we sample thousands of people, muggles _and _wizards, we won't know for sure..." But it did fit with her theory. Cecilia put down her pen, allowing her thoughts to organise themselves in her mind.

And then a thought struck her: what of those muggles, one of whom had been Petunia Dursley, had a kind of latent magic within them? Or perhaps they are squibs who have lost their magic or do not possess the function to metabolise energy in the way necessary to perform spells? There was nothing to say that being a wizard and being a muggle were not permanent states of affairs –

Cecilia got to her feet and began to pace Dumbledore-like around the kitchen – but there were things Snape was _still _fundamentally wrong about.

Her final paragraph to Snape conceded the crystalline examples of her "not fixed state of affairs" hypothesis before signing the letter. Before folding the letter she added a "PS" of regret that they couldn't be working together before fashioning an envelope from another piece of paper and writing on his name.

Not that it made any difference anyway, Cecilia thought to herself as she trawled through her notes of Harry's potion to find what to try next, she couldn't actually send it to him.

And if Cecilia hadn't put her mind to solving a minor crisis on the gas-burner front, she wouldn't have discovered how false her last conclusion actually was.

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Harry Potter made his way up towards Dumbledore's office. He had arrived back at Hogwarts not via the usual method of steam engine with his peers, but rather on a far more exciting prospect with an old friend in tow, an old friend who had almost caused a huge commotion with his arrival at Privet Drive that morning by landing a flying motorcycle on the back lawn of said place of residence. Harry had had to hide his mirth at Aunt Petunia's wizened face crinkling in horror at the invasion of her back garden, hands to her face in horror at the trail of destruction that the rider of this mysterious flying vehicle (Hagrid) who had managed to break the washing line at one end, catching it on the tail pipe and was slowly picking off huge sail-like shirts from the washing line.

His last memory as he gripped Hagrid around the middle and allowed his old friend to take him aloft was that of his aunt running around her garden in an attempt to recapture the shirts which, in their voluminous aerodynamicity appeared to have sprung to life in the wake of the vehicle.

As they soared overhead, travelling northward at speed Hagrid had shouted back to him that a member of the Order would be along shortly to collect his belongings and Hedwig which Harry had prepared carefully and had taken round to Arabella Figg's house the day before when the Dursleys had been returning his cousin to school. Harry had nodded into Hagrid's back as ice-cold wind had whistled past his head: the letter had arrived via ordinary muggle post, plastered in postage stamps with his name scrawled in a small corner of the front of the envelope. Fortunately for him his Aunt and Uncle were too wrapped up in his cousin Dudley's return to boarding school that they had piled the post together on the hall table without looking at it before departing without even a word to Harry as they piled 'Ickle Duddykins into the back seat with almost the entire contents of both of his bedrooms occupying the seats, boot and roof-rack.

On their return to Hogwarts Hagrid had insisted on accompanying Harry through the school, avoiding Harry's roundabout questions as to why he had to return like this and not on the Hogwarts express until he could avoid the young wizard's questions no longer. At the foot of the stairs by the stone bird that marked the entrance to the spiral staircase which led to Dumbledore's front office door Hagrid stooped until he was at Harry's eye level before whispering to him cautiously.

"'s not safe," Hagrid hissed, holding onto his shoulders. "You, returnin' on the Hogwarts Express?" He shook his head in mild exasperation as if Harry had uttered an innocent-but-naïve question of a child. Placing both hands firmly on Harry's shoulders he continued. "You been safe at yer aunt's. An' now yer needed to come to school – " breaking off Hagrid looked around furtively at the deserted corridor before leaning in further and Harry, trying not to inhale the stench of dead something leaned in too conspiratorially. " – not all the Death Eaters were captured, y'see. No-one knows where – " another cautious dart, " – "You-Know-Who is or what e's been plottin'. Dumbledore's usual line of communication was cut orf when 'e took the potion that Mrs Frobisher made – " a look of realisation crossed Harry's face before Hagrid quickly added, " – an' he's spent 'is last few months trying to regain it – "

Suddenly Hagrid cut off again, as if distracted by something that Harry couldn't hear and the school's gamekeeper looked around again before glancing up towards the underside of the marble staircase. "You'd better go," he concluded, getting back to his feet and placing an encouraging hand in the small of Harry's back. "Dumbledore asked me to bring you 'ere pers'n'lly though I ain't got no doubt in my thinking that yer can make yer own way from 'ere…"

Harry had no time to reply. As soon as a his mind had had a chance to recover enough to call after him Hagrid was making his way towards the Great Hall steps and was far too far away. For answers then, thought Harry level-headedly as he looked towards his destination exhaling slowly, I must put my faith in Dumbledore.

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Cecilia knew that there was a door around the side of the cottage somewhere, which led to a cellar, which led to a box that contained spare methane cylinders. She knew this because Remus had taken her there to look at the property of the late Grandmother Lupin when she was equipping the utility room with suitable kit for her analyses. That had been some time ago in early March and now she wondered where it could be and whether she would be able to open it.

Although the Lupin cottage had been occupied for a good number of years by Remus's grandmother the cottage itself had belonged to her husband's family and as such its structural features were modelled to suit wizard life. Its interior had been clearly chosen by a muggle and the whole place seemed to have adapted to suit the lives of both its occupants. It was the structure of the building that was concerning Cecilia now and it was a problem that she had encountered to a lesser extent at Hogwarts.

Wizard doors.

On the outside they looked just the same as any other door, hinged in two places and with a handle in the middle in order for the used to press on it and pull, or otherwise push the door to gain access. That was where their similarity to muggle doors ceased. Yes the doors, especially the older ones, did have locks and latches similar to those in muggle households the later ones, such as those in the Lupin cottage, had dispensed with such fanciful decoration. And yes, they did technically unlock when the correct function for opening them was used.

But herein lay the problem: the function for unlocking wizard doors was the use of magic. With magic, Cecilia knew, doors would open with a heartbeat if, that was, they had been locked using magic, or to put it a different way, energy metabolised within the conjurer willed the particles of the wood, stone or metal to either remain steadfast or to yield. And no amount of tugging (as Cecilia knew when she had tried the one on Hogwarts' Great Hall) would open a door that had been locked by magic.

Treading carefully upon the ground underfoot upon stones that lay half buried as if a sea of rafts in a green ocean Cecilia made her way down the slope to the bottom west corner of the cottage. The whole structure itself had been built on the side of a hill and, where the kitchen door led straight onto a path that was horizontal with the contours of the incline. From halfway out the underside of the cottage, where the large windows of the living room and the utility room sat the ground suddenly ran from under it. The cottage's foundations had been built up for support and in the gap between the floorboards of the cottage and the ground beneath the space had been utilised as a store cupboard which, Cecilia had gratefully acknowledged, had contained a gas burner just the right size to heat the solutions of the potions she was making.

That had been two months ago and, two minutes ago Cecilia saw the last of the gas sputter out under a now ruined batch of potion 30 which she would now have to repeat in full when she had got her heat source fully restored. If she couldn't get in, or she could find no fuel Cecilia would just have to wait for another eight hours or so until Remus returned from the Order meeting.

Holding onto the side of the cottage for support Cecilia got herself to where she had been standing when Remus had opened the door for her. Then she had been in awe at the appearance of the doorway, as if the stones around it has seemingly melted away and now she wondered whether it had been a spell or if the doorway was just well-concealed.

It turned out that the latter was true: Cecilia could see the outline of the door in the stone foundations of the cottage and she touched the door in its centre as Remus had done, hoping that it hadn't sealed or locked itself and it would again swing open. It did.

Blinking in the darkness Cecilia wafted a few errant cobwebs out of her line of sight before pulling out the cigarette lighter that she used to light her burner (and that she had purchased on her last trip to Ambleside) and she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light before retracing her own footsteps to the far corner of the cellar. Holding the lighter aloft Cecilia located the top drawer in an old desk that stood there like a spindly skeleton almost quaking at the unannounced attention it had drawn.

No gas canisters. Cecilia moved aside some of the old copies of "The Daily Prophet", the pictures on the ancient leaves moving jerkily as if the decay of time had affected the animation of the images, searching more thoroughly in order to locate them. And if she couldn't then her research would be frustratingly delayed. Cecilia waved the air in front of her as she blinked in the dim light again as if a slight improvement in her vision would allow her to see the gas canisters that weren't there a moment ago.

No, nothing in there. Holding the handle she pushed shut the top drawer before pulling open the one underneath. That too was crammed full of old "Daily Prophets" which Cecilia extracted carefully, placing it on the top of the desk as her search for the gas fuel continued which continued for a full ten minutes until reluctantly Cecilia Frobisher came to the conclusion that they weren't there. Which meant…

…that either they had been moved to somewhere else or she had been looking in the wrong place. With a heavy sigh of the dust-laden air Cecilia brought her arm around in the gloom of the cellar to look for alternative places in which the gas canisters might be…

Cecilia made her way to the far end of the cellar, which would be located just underneath the eastern window end of the living room and opened a trunk that was placed there, ignoring the ominous (and compulsory) eerie squeak of the hinges and held the lighter above her, trying not to let the metal button burn her finger. As she bent lower, another squeaking made her look up and Cecilia noticed a lantern, whose oil she lit with the lighter in her hand, pocketing the still-warm lighter before turning her attention back to the trunk.

More "Daily Prophets". Remus's parents and grandparents must have saved every copy there was. She looked upon the front page of the paper atop the pile and read the headline as she glanced at the picture of a wizard shaking hands with a round-faced lady looking uncharacteristically bewildered and confused. The headline "Muggle Prime Minister informed of defeat of You-Know-Who" flashed in monochrome vividity in time with what must have been the then Minister for Magic's hearty shaking of Margaret Thatcher above a sub-heading, "Diversion Planned: Madam Prime Minister to Defend Falkland Islands."

Putting aside the historical artefact that that copy of the "Daily Prophet" undoubtedly was, Cecilia continued to rummage in the trunk, unearthing a miniature broomstick complete with dressable Quidditch player and an innocuous-looking manicure set and resignation began to set in as to finding the gas canisters. It wasn't as if she couldn't find more fuel, Cecilia mused as she began to stack the contents back inside, more than the waste of an hour where, had the replacements been where they had been the last time would have taken no more than ten minutes.

And then…

….the whole business of her search for gas canisters was thrown aside…

In Cecilia's hands she held a medium-sized metal container with the word "SALT" stencilled into the lid, the white writing of the word against the black-painted tin boldly proclaiming its contents inside. That was the ordinary bit. What was inside was…

…well, it certainly wasn't table salt. Were you to sprinkle the green ashy contents over your fish and chips Cecilia doubted that you would feel post-prandial good health. The shade of the powder reminded Cecilia of copper carbonate powder (a wonderful chemical whose fresh pale green appearance had an encouraging effect on stroppy year 9 girls who "hated science") but the texture of burned paper. Cecilia had seen this powder before. It was floo powder.

What was a container of floo powder doing in an old salt tin in Remus's cellar? It wasn't as if the stuff was precious: wizards used the floo network as if it were a telephone system (a rather intrusive one, she added to herself.) The stuff was purchased for next to nothing from wizardly suppliers around the country.

Closing the lid, Cecilia was about to return it to the trunk before pulling it back out and opening it up again. She thought she'd seen something: paper folded into a square and wedged into the lid. Ordinarily Cecilia probably wouldn't have given it a second glance had there not been two words to prompt her: "For Muggles".

What was for Muggles? Cecilia wondered and she pulled the parchment from the lid. She was just about to unfold it when the old "Daily Prophets" that caught Cecilia's attention again. More importantly, it was the dates of the papers and she put the "SALT" tin and parchment to one side. These copies were from the mid-fifties and were in such a state of decay that their monochrome images had ceased dynamism completely, the action of their subjects frozen in odd and unusual poses. February, March, April, May…Cecilia put them to one side…June 1956. The Goblin Riots.

Holding the paper closer to the lighter Cecilia looked at the headline: "Gringotts Goblins in All-Out Strike". Underneath in smaller print: "Ministry evades talks with goblin leaders. 'No concession', the Minister expected to announce."

The goblin riots. Holding the paper directly underneath the oil lantern Cecilia looked carefully at the article there, thinking back to the work she had done regarding Raymond Lully. Hadn't he been there, on one or two occasions? And Oswald Avery, presumably.

Cecilia scanned the picture, its jerky image reflecting the age of the document, looking at the crowd of wizards who had gathered in the square outside Gringott's bank. She saw the faces, many happy, smiling faces of the wizards, looking as if they were just out for a bit of good fun, not realising that in a few short days there would be rioting from the goblins themselves. And then, in the crowd…

…Cecilia's mind skipped back to a time when she was sitting next to an open fire with a large bloodhound near her feet, listening to a large giant telling her of his bunking off from school in order to see what was happening in Diagonalley. Never had she seen Hagrid's face so full of terror as when Hagrid was telling her the story of how he was inches away from being Avada Kedavra'd to death when the person standing next to him had been mistaken for Raymond Lully.

She looked at the photo again. Raymond Lully had been such an integral role in their research, from his involvement in the Reciprocation movement that had begun almost two hundred years ago, through his assistance with many of the world's most eminent scientists to his death, presumably at the hands of an assassin on the day of the goblin riots. But she had no idea what he looked like. Was he there, standing with the crowd? Cecilia scanned the image wondering if he was indeed there before opening the paper up carefully onto the second page. Her heart stopped.

On the second page, the name "Lupin" jumped out at her, clear as day (had she not been in a cellar). Breathing quickly, Cecilia's eyes darted around the page trying to find where the article began (this being the Daily Prophet, the articles did not run in boring old regular columns as they did in Muggle newspapers, indeed: this one appeared to begin on the top left-hand side and zigzag down to the bottom right hand corner.

Cecilia blinked in the lamplight as she read the article through, which she read through again once she had finished to make sure she hadn't dreamed it before closing her eyes momentarily as the information sank in before returning her gaze to a small picture of the subject of the article which was (inexplicably) close to the bottom left-hand corner.

The article went something like this: the hunt was on for a child by the name of Caelius Lupin (aged 3), who had disappeared from the home of John and Sylvia Lupin in Suffolk. She stared at the paper again, looking at the inanimate pictures of Mr and Mrs Lupin (their picture printed at an angle in the mid-right section of the page). John Lupin was almost the image of Remus and Cecilia had to look from the paper again to prevent her mind running way from her. Caelius, the article had said, was last seen by his father at seven in the evening, shortly after he had read him a bedtime story. The book, Mysterious Mythology, was also missing…

Cecilia shook her head: Remus had told her everything of his family, how they had moved in with his father's mother, Remus's grandmother, to this cottage. He hadn't mentioned his brother…a brother who would have been older than himself…

…in the dimness Cecilia sank to the floor, letting the information settle into her mind…Remus had a brother who was abducted…he hadn't told her…

Mysterious Mythology…why did everything, sooner or later, come back to that book? She knew that the copy Remus had given to her complete with Reciprocation notes carefully woven into the tales was not made until August of that year, which meant that the one that was missing with the child was probably not on and the same…nevertheless, Cecilia thought, why had Remus not told her…?

Leaning over to the trunk once more Cecilia pulled out another copy. This one was from October 1956 and the cover story again was the report of another goblin riot, this one (according to the reporter Ed Edison) coming unexpectedly for the Ministry had acceded to the requests made from the spokesgoblin, Valdort. At the bottom of the page a small circular article declared that the body of a boy believed to be Caelius Lupin had been found and the goblin Tregal was implicated in his death. Next to the article there he were jerky, sporadic movements from the images where Tregal was clearly protesting his innocence. Her heart sank as she relived the Lupins' grief. A young boy – their eldest son – murdered in all of this. With the exception of Lully himself, possibly the first casualty of Voldermort. And then…their second son inflicted with a debilitating condition…lycanthropy…

Leaning over the trunk once more Cecilia continued to look through more Prophets, her search for more information on both goblin-related matters replacing that of her gas cylinders of twenty minutes ago but, after a thorough search there was nothing more about riots or Caelius Lupin…

She was about to close the lid again, her mind racing over the new information and a sheaf of papers caught her eye. She pulled them out too, laying them out on the cold, concrete floor. Amongst them were some pages, seemingly pulled out of a text book, noting the symptoms of lycanthropy and the precautions that should be taken. Behind that were what looked like a handful of knitting patterns, presumably belonging to Grandmother Lupin, whose instructions had been modified in places and also some recipes, the kind that you get in old ladies' houses, detailing the correct manufacture of Shepherd's pie, apple crumble and cheese soufflé. And then, at the back of all these papers…Cecilia's hand couldn't stop shaking as she scanned the page. Names, like spawning salmon leaping upstream, which she had long considered over these past few months jumped out at her from the page of the letter from Remus's father to Remus's grandmother.

"Dear Mother," (the letter began), and it continued in what Cecilia thought to be quite a reverential tone; John Lupin seemed to be expressing a certain amount of regret and woe of the fate of their younger son. He explained how, because he didn't want the same fate to befall Remus as it had Caelius he wished to know that, were trouble to arise again in the future that he could arrange to move his family in with his parents for the safety of their new son. He went on to regret that someone like Oswald Avery might have been behind Caelius's disappearance because of his work with Raymond Lully and, even though he was happy to continue the work his father had done (so, Remus's grandfather was a Reciprocator too…?) he couldn't now commit himself wholly to the cause because there would always be too much of a worry happy that his family was safe. However, he has accommodated Lully before his death and would do so again for the cause of Reciprocation.

Cecilia read the letter again, a pang of sympathy resonating for John Lupin again. The letter, dated October 1959, was six months after Remus's birthday. Of course, of course he was worried, what father wouldn't be that another child would be at risk of abduction and death at the hands of the enemy? And to have a back-up plan, that was sensible. But…Remus had told her that he had moved after his bite, and that had been when he was seven or eight…clearly John Lupin's work with Lully had reached the ear of the enemy quite late after he had done it, as had what Mysterious Mythology had contained, so the man would have been less guarded about his son when Greyback's attack had come…

Collecting the papers back together, she put them back into the trunk where they had come from before lifting the "SALT" container up, cursing to herself as Cecilia realised she hadn't secured the catch. Brushing the green dust from her clothes, she got to her feet and, in the gloom that the oil lamp threw around it, Cecilia looked to the door and was about to blow out the flame when the small piece of parchment that had originally been in the box with the floo powder caught her eye again. She stooped to retrieve it before holding it up to the last-minute-reprieved flame, looking at the words on it: For Muggles. Well, she was a muggle, Cecilia thought as she unfolded the parchment, and the petulant voice of her inner child added, "and if they didn't mean me they should have been more specific".

The words were written in a hand which looked as if a spider had crawled across the page. The letters were spindly and thin yet their meaning was never clearer. Whoever had written this parchment seemed to be instructing muggles in the method of wizard chimney-to-chimney communication. The parchment was a letter, which read:

My dearest Bessie,

I will be away for some time. Pomfrey has a notion that he can get what he needs from Oswald Avery. Avery is a loyal ally and I am accompanying Pomfrey in my capacity as an Auror.

(They trusted Avery, then, thought Cecilia grimly as the words sank in. That was before Avery was implicated in the death of their son…the same Avery whose own son she had seen murdered by Voldermort all those months ago for the inability to retrieve Avery senior's counterintelligence in order for it to be applied to "Mysterious Mythology"…had Cecilia been religious of the Old Testament variety, an eye for an eye…)

If you are reading this then I will not be contactable by Owl, neither by Fellytone or Muggle post. Your father, whose assistance I am always indebted with regards his links in the muggle government will be able to assist you in contacting my by providing a useable chimney, one that is connected to the Floo network. The floo powder contained within will allow you, as a non-wizard, to contact me. Throw the powder into the fire and the spell cast upon any ordinary powder will do its work. It can be renewed by adding more powder to this box, the spell will endow further powder with the qualities for non-wizard flooing. This is one of his trial spells that I am happy to say works well and I am happy to let you my dear Bessie, benefit from its use; he has even devised a way so that it is untraceable by the Floo engineers. What a genius Avery is!

I am sorry to leave you my dearest darling, and remember, I will be back as soon as the work is completed and as fast as the winds can blow my broom back to our mountains.

Your loving husband,

Aloysius Lupin

Cecilia felt something in her chest begin to melt, as if a ball of wax had begun to liquefy and her feelings towards Remus, about him not sharing with her the existence of his brother, began to melt away. He had told her much about his family and if he had known about this, about how involved his family were in muggle-wizard relations. He would have told her about this, Cecilia was sure, and the feeling of prying into a family secret that she had felt when she had read the letter from his father to his grandmother, and reading the "Daily Prophets" had been replaced with a new closeness.

An image formed in her mind of Remus's grandmother, of the inanimate picture that stood in a frame over the mantelpiece, a smiley, round-faced woman with dark curly hair wearing the same brooch on the lapel of her dress that Remus had given to her at Christmas as she read the letter again and her concerns about contacting wizards began to fall away. If, as Aloysius Lupin said, the use of the powder meant she could use the floo network without discovery then her fears of communication in the wizard world would finally be abated.

Folding back up the letter, Cecilia stooped to retrieve the "SALT" container, folding the letter back up inside and closing the lid before extinguishing the oil light and reaching into her pocket for the lighter again. Taking the tin with her with all thought of the gas cylinders gone completely from her mind Cecilia made her way back up the steep slope next to the cottage and back inside..

Floo powder for muggles, made possible by an experimental charm concocted by the traitor Avery. After forty odd years would it still work? Cecilia stepped back through the kitchen door and made her way hurriedly into the living room, eyeing the fireplace with unalloyed excitement. There was only one way to find out…

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"So you see Harry, much as my affection for you as an individual has sought to shade from you the nature of the enemy, it is indeed right, I am sure you will agree, that I make you fully aware of the truth of the matter."

Before Dumbledore's desk Harry was sitting, as immobile as he had been the moment the headmaster had begun to speak. During that time he had listened dumbstruck to every word, ignoring a voice at the back of his mind insisting his ears question what they were hearing. To Dumbledore's expectant expression Harry managed to nod as he struggled for speech, swallowing intermittently before replying.

"Yes," he replied, filling in the gap that was left in the conversation. "Yes, Professor," he added, nodding slowly as his mind replayed the conversation in its entirety across his cerebellum.

Dumbledore had told him about…a prophecy that was made by Professor Trelawney about either him or another boy, and how Voldermort had chosen to interpret the child as being Harry. How he had made plans to lure Harry to the Ministry in order to retrieve it and in doing so and how with the exception of the enemy and Trelawney only two other wizards knew about it, Professor Snape and Professor McGongall…

"Sir, the prophecy – " began Harry, his mind attempting to frantically assimilate the information that Dumbledore had told him but the headmaster at Hogwarts held up a hand.

"Harry, do you think that I would not have brought you here, ahead of the others and upsetting the household of your aunt if I did not believe it was vital for you to be informed?" He got to his feet and began to pace around his desk, before leaning on it nonchalantly. "It is not up to me to decide what you do with this information. Were you to sell it to the enemy – "

" – but I would never – " Dumbledore held up a hand towards Harry's vociferous protestations,

" – then that is a risk I have taken through sharing this information with you. Many disagree that I should allow you this intelligence but, considering your bravery on the night of Voldermort's disastrous return back in February, I cannot ask for a greater show of loyalty, Harry. In return I offer you a stake in the future. Your own."

"So the prophecy – " continued Harry eventually, a little confused now as to what Dumbledore was telling him.

" – is in the ministry," finished Dumbledore, rising back to his feet again before beginning to pace over towards the fireplace. "All you need to know is that in its current location it is safe here though I beg of you not to press me for more details Harry for I will not be able to give them to you. Alas another life, one that is very significant in the outcome of these events is at stake."

For a moment, Harry said nothing as he scanned his memory banks in order to narrow down the

life to which Dumbledore was alluding before looking back sharply at him.

"Mrs Frobisher," confirmed Dumbledore, nodding his head in confirmation. Harry said nothing: that wasn't the life about which he was thinking. "Ah, dear Mrs Frobisher," the headmaster mused, glancing round at the carpet from which, despite his reassurances, Dumbledore had not been able to remove the blood stains. "Oh how Dobby will miss her presence at the castle."

"Mrs Frobisher is not returning to Hogwarts?" Harry was as surprised as Dumbledore at his own shocked tone and the headmaster of the school began to pace back towards him before clicking his fingers and, magicking a chair in front of Harry, he sat on it daintily.

"No indeed, she is not. She had her own part to play in this, which is to ensure your potion is correct. If this prophecy is to be fulfilled and Voldermort is to be defeated then it must be ready. As before, Harry, the decision is yours." Dumbledore watched Harry Potter get to his feet, looking less uncomfortable with the idea of wizardly combat than he had done the first time.

"What must I do?"

"Do?" Dumbledore savoured the word as if it were a sherbet lemon, looking Harry in the eye. "Do? Nothing. There is nothing for you to do."

"Why are you telling me this then?" At the indignance in his features Dumbledore sighed, wondering how this conversation could have gone better. He looked Harry in the eye again and when he spoke his tone was softer and his face was still.

"For there may come a time soon that I will not be able to Harry, and your not knowing would be worse than anything Voldermort could perpetrate…for when it comes to the fight you will need your strength…" Dumbledore got back to his feet, gliding back around to the other side of his desk before removing his half-moon spectacles.

"Our best chance is for you to take the potion, when it is refined and both Professor Snape and Mrs Frobisher are happy with it at Ministry for Magic. However, although the Order have determined this to be the best option of all there is no compulsion for you to co-operate. Indeed; you will be only a year away from being Of Age very soon. We cannot make you do something that you don't want to."

There was a pause. Harry and Dumbledore stared at each other momentarily before Harry looked away from the headmaster and down at the floor.

"Now, as the Hogwarts Express is not due for another eight hours I suggest that you take your time to unpack and rest before your friends arrive. No doubt you will have plenty of studying to do with your OWLs being soon upon you."

Oh yes, thought Harry, the OWLs.

"I think perhaps I should submit my recent successes against Dark wizards as proof that I have already met the exam criteria for Defence and save myself the time," he replied dolefully. "That and muggle studies."

"An excellent idea, Harry," replied Dumbledore as Harry rose before retreating towards the door that he had entered almost half an hour before. As the young wizard descended the stairs before making his way across the Great Hall's front corridor towards the common rooms Dumbledore got to his feet again and began to watch the sudden rainstorm pelt his window with water against the backdrop of the courtyard.

"I will ensure that I make a note of that to mention to your new teacher."

88888888

When Sirius Black put his head close to the hearth in his father's study the last person he had expected to see, glowing ethereally green was the very person that he had wished to covertly espy. At first, he had been taken aback, dropping the floo powder into the hearth and spilling the green ashes onto the Persian carpet that sat before the fireplace. Recovering quickly, he backed out of the hearth as Cecilia Frobisher blinked dreamily around her.

"Cecilia!" he exclaimed, smiling in her direction as he sat cross-legged on the maroon carpet, watching as she continued to look round in a daze. "How did you manage to do that?"

"Sirius!" Cecilia's head flickered in the flames as she peered out into Sirius's study, viewing it from a six-inches high through a film of green as she tried to gain her bearings. Looking at the occupant of the study, grinning at her, she smiled too.

"I had some help," admitted Cecilia, hoping that the blush that she could feel flood her face was not visible to him through the emerald glow as she recalled the letter from Aloysius Lupin to Bessie. "It's very strange the first time you try it, though." Sirius nodded, shuffling forward on the carpet, frowning in her direction.

"But the security – "

"Apparently, because I'm a muggle, I can't be traced," she added quickly, a tinge of pride in her voice. "An experimental spell," she added, trying to stem the flow of questions from her floo-ee.

"Oh," mused Sirius, smiling at her again. "I was under the impression you'd done something clever with science," he continued, watching her squirm a little. "But if you've used magic – "

"It's a risk," Cecilia conceded. "But it means I can communicate again without having to wait for Remus to deliver letters for me." Including the two that whizzed up the chimney before I put my head under the mantelpiece, Cecilia said to herself. "I've been thinking about what you told me on Saturday, Sirius," she continued. "Not that I understand very much of it, I'm planning to go to the nearest library and do some research – "

" – no!" Sirius returned quickly. "Cecilia, you mustn't leave the cottage, not now. Wait until someone can accompany you." Cecilia paused in her rebuttal, swallowing quickly and nodded.

"That felt weird," she smiled, shaking her head now. "Like pins and needles."

"Tonks wanted to know if you're well," continued Sirius as he considered the reversal of situation. Now that was weird.

"Tonks?" asked Cecilia, blinking at him questioningly. "She knows I am, did you tell her? How is she?"

"Loving every minute of being alive, apparently," muttered Sirius absently. "Her mum's getting a bit cheesed off by her not being home, she's been asking me to cover for her with Andromeda which I have done, but she'll have to tell her eventually. So," Sirius looked back at Cecilia's head, smiling at her again. She was remarkably clever to be able to tap into the floo network on her own. "What is it you wanted?"

"To ask you about Saturday," clarified Cecilia. "How convinced are you about what you told me, because – "

"Look, Cecilia, it was just a theory," interrupted Sirius, drawing closer to the fire. "I just wanted to know if it was scientifically possible." Cecilia nodded ethereally.

"It is possible," she confirmed. "I can draft out an explanation if you'd like…" Her voice trailed off as Cecilia recalled her musings on the subject the day before. "I think – " But Sirius cut her off.

"It was just an idea. Far better for you to focus your efforts on Harry's potion…and your own idea for Lupin…" At the mention of the latter research, Cecilia shook her head, looking down at the ashes in the study hearth.

"I don't think I can, not now," she lied defensively. "It was just a supposition." She looked back at Sirius beseechingly. "If I were in a different position, or it was a different time, and the circumstances were not as they are…if I managed to get DNA traces for Remus – " Sirius nodded sympathetically.

"If you wanted my help, you only have to ask…

"…that would have been good," Cecilia admitted, hoping she sounded genuine. "He has shared his condition with me, and I know he's been reserved about many of the details." She looked at Sirius again. "It's dreadful to think how much pain he must be in, but I cannot get is hopes up only to disappoint him." She shook her head slowly. "It was mere supposition, Sirius. I want to help him, I just don't have the means. (Yet, she thought to herself). Please forget I ever mentioned anything. Especially with the way he feels about it at the moment." She paused. "Did you speak to Remus?" Sirius nodded.

"Not for long, he didn't go into details. But I got the gist." Cecilia smiled. "He said Dumbledore understands. I think he feels useless enough at everything else and now there's this."

"He's not useless," protested Cecilia in defence. "He's – "

"Hang on, I didn't say that, he thinks it himself…it's – "

" – his condition, I know," sighed Cecilia, unable to keep it to herself much longer. "Sirius, I need your help!" she blurted out. "If I can't do this for him…I'm on my own because…"

"But you just said…"

"Of course I want to find a cure for Remus," Cecilia said softly, her emotions showing in the flickering of the floo flames, "and I know how to do it."

"You need to analyse his hair." Sirius smiled again, his eyes twinkling and Cecilia felt a sinking in her stomach, as if he could read the image that had stirred in her hindbrain. She managed to nod.

"Two samples, one when he is a werewolf, one when he's…changed. They must only be twenty four hours between them, and…you have the opportunity to get some…" Her words hung between them, as their gaze locked for a moment.

"I don't think I can…"

"But you said – " Cecilia wore an expression of confusion.

"Ignore what I said. Concentrate on the potion." Sirius's own expression changed, to one of resolution.

"You don't believe I am considering Harry in this – " Her voice was low, her head bowed and she tried to stop it from quavering as she cursed herself for mentioning her other research. Sirius moved further towards the fireplace.

"No, Cecilia. Not after what you did in February. Ignore my foolish ramblings and focus on what's necessary…" Cecilia said nothing. She had heard that tone before…

"Concentrate on getting that potion done as quickly as possible," replied Sirius forthrightly. "I will get the hair samples and get Tonks to get Nick to analyse them. Now," he smiled at Cecilia's submissive expression, "I presume we'll be seeing you this evening? There's to be an Order meeting."

"Remus will be conveying my resignation," she replied, thinking about the letters she had given to him to deliver and wishing she had kept hold of them a while longer.

Later that afternoon, after Cecilia had said her goodbyes, echoing her surprise at the ease of her communication, Sirius made a second attempt to espy the soon-to-be Mrs Lupin's activities. Telling himself he should cure himself of such a bad habit as he gained a tantalisingly brief view of his subject, lying full-length before the fire with her books open and her hair cascading over her shoulders, Sirius was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Lupin.

Pulling his head out of the grate as he heard the familiar noises of the Order members assembling downstairs Sirius retreated back into his father's study picking up the Daily Prophet. Much as he liked most of the people in the Order, he didn't like the prologue to the meeting, the chatting and talking, the catching up, Molly Weasley fussing over the food-to-wizard ratio, the small talk. Far easier to slip in just before it started so as to focus on what was important.

Remus Lupin turned the handle of the study before pacing across several Persian carpets that Sirius had removed from various rooms in his house relocated to his father's study. He seated himself in the second wing-backed chair opposite a picture of the ministry representatives pouring into the antechamber of the ministry building below a headline "New Security Laws: latest." Sirius put down his newspaper and smiled at his friend.

"You're early," said Sirius, folding the Daily Prophet in half and with drawing his wand, he conjured a tray of tea onto the low coffee table between them. "Something wrong?" He took in his friend's dejected expression before leaning forward sympathetically.

"I misjudged the time," replied Remus slowly. "It's been years since I've travelled by broom."

And then to Sirius's surprise Remus described to his friend how his life was so restrictive because of the new werewolf regulations, how he was barred from apparitions. Then Remus then described what he had been thinking about the been thinking about for the last two days.

"She's getting restless there," Remus explained, his face a picture of misery. "Perhaps we should think about living in the muggle world."

"Has she said this?" asked Sirius in open astonishment.

"No," Remus conceded, leaning back in his chair and frowning. "But it would be better for her…she'd be more comfortable…it'd be better for both of us and – "

"Remus, you're babbling," chided Sirius gently. "Stop getting yourself so upset, I don't like to see you in that way…" He trailed off as Remus leaned forward again and he was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"I only feel like that because of her…I have something that I don't want to lose…" Sirius leaned forward, and smiled at his friend.

"Why do you think that you'll lose her?" His words were soft, but firm.

"Because…" And then Remus told his best friend about the werewolf code, the words which had been mere silence when he had spoken to him two days ago. He told of the violations that he had committed, according to the Ministry, over a period of four years, and how he would have to face a hearing to justify the violations. As Sirius listened to him, patting his arm sympathetically he wondered how much of this he had shared with Cecilia. Not much, he speculated, if the charges were to do with the work he had undertaken for Dumbledore.

"Oh, mate," said Sirius when Remus had finished. "You know that I'm here for you…"

"Are you here for me when – " Remus broke off and got to his feet.

"Have you spoken to Cecilia about this?" Sirius cursed himself for asking the question, and tried to make it sound innocent.

"I tried, Sirius," Remus replied, pacing away before turning back suddenly. "I did, up to a point. But – " Sirius said nothing and waited for Remus to tell him.

"When I got back, Snape was there…they were chatting…" Remus began to return towards his friend and looked at him, a pained expression on his face.

"Snape, chatting?" Sirius replied. He looked incredulous and was about to say something else but stopped. "What about?"

"Work," replied Remus dolefully, looking at the intricate pattern of a turquoise carpet with interest.

"There you are, then," returned Sirius matter-of-factly, taking in that expression, the same one that he had seen on his friend's face when they found out James and Lily were going out. Remus'd smiled, Sirius recalled. But there was that same air of sadness that lingered now, tinged with betrayal.

"Look, Moony, she loves you and only you. I have no doubt about that." Remus looked up, right into his best friend's eyes before taking a few paces towards him.

"I love her so much, everything about her – " he began.

"And you are sure?" Sirius made the effort to sound firm. "Because you loved Lily once, then Tonks. And we don't know much about her…" He trailed off and watched his friend smile. He knew what Sirius was trying to do and told him so.

"If it didn't work on the night of the lunar eclipse, it won't now." Remus retook his seat and watched as Sirius poured the tea from the steaming teapot into two large cups. "I'm never going to change my mind about her Sirius, and I know she loves me."

And yet you won't trust her with this, thought Sirius treacherously as he handed a cup of black tea to Remus. You love her but won't share the worst with her.

"If I have one regret is that I didn't make it happen sooner," continued Remus, a little more relaxed than he had been a few moments ago. "If I could have been strong enough to talk to your cousin…if I'd not taken my eyes off Cecilia Jane Frobisher the first moment I saw her, if I'd spoken to her straight away, like – " Remus broke off and looked at Sirius.

" - me," finished Sirius, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "A fine one I am for giving you relationship advice."

"I know her, Sirius," he continued, the worried frown returning, "…and I know she loves me…but something's not right, I can smell it…"

"Then give her some trust, old friend. Don't keep punishing yourself for feeling this happiness." Remus looked down, this time at a lilac and primrose-yellow carpet.

"It's difficult…especially when I come home and there's another man in the house."

"And I was in the house too, the other day…" Remus shot him a look, before nodding, defeated. "He's Snape, for heaven's sake," continued Sirius, incredulity creeping in. "He's – "

"But he's not a…you're not a…"

"No! Don't say it! She loves you for you, wolf and all. Like you love her muggle and all." Sirius was on his feet now, biting short his forthright words to stop him from giving away Cecilia's secret. Luckily Remus seemed not to notice. His friend smiled and nodded in agreement. Only Sirius, he thought, could put it that way.

"What's up?" said Sirius gently.

"We argued." Remus looked away again. At Sirius's unspoken expression of "Oh", he added, "we made up, though."

"Give her some flowers, do some Moony-like things..." Sirius took another sip from the cup before reaching for a biscuit.

"I still think it would be best to leave the wizard world…all I wish is for a peaceful life…" he looked at Sirius again, "…she talks in her sleep sometimes, as if she's fighting something inside…"

"Well, that's not surprising," said Sirius dismissively. "Considering what she's done in the last year it's not surprising things are playing on her mind."

A moment passed between them. Eventually Remus spoke as a picture appeared in his mind of Cecilia's happy, smiling face.

"I'll talk to her," he concluded, nodding decisively.

"I'm so happy for you, Moony, I really am." And then Remus asked something of Sirius that made his friend's heart melt, something to which he agreed wholeheartedly and secured their status as best of friends. Remus asked Sirius to be his best man when he and Cecilia eventually got married.

Getting to his feet as the noise from downstairs had grown to a moderate din, Sirius magicked away the tea tray before making his way across the becarpeted study.

"Come on, it'll be starting in a minute. Dumbledore'll do his nut if we're late."

Taking their seats near the rear of the group, which had again assembled in the living room (far more hospitable since Christmas; the cleaning spell that had de-infested the furniture, curtains and carpets had, despite all the odds, lasted). Remus had already handed Cecilia's letter to Minerva before he had sought Sirius and was actually quite relieved to be free of one burden.

As Dumbledore made to begin, sitting to the right of the two wizards who had almost been late to the meeting, another wizard dashed through the hall door, looking flustered as if her presence at Grimmauld Place she had only just remembered. Tonks's blue hair was covered in floo dust which fell to the floor like magical dandruff as she issued her profuse apologies to Dumbledore for her timekeeping.

Nodding his head slowly and gesturing in the direction of some empty chairs to his left Dumbledore completed his arc and stood before the Order members who he had addressed in the Great Hall at Hogwarts two and a half months ago. There were some absences. Indeed, the chatter that had prevailed just before he had called the group to order was dotted with reminiscences of members who had given their lives at the Great Battle.

Above the low chattering that was enduring amongst the wizards before him Dumbledore glanced around, waiting for the muttering to reduce to nothing. As the sound ebbed, the Head of the Order of the Phoenix began to speak.

"Witches and Wizards of the Order. A new beginning." He looked at the wizards again, at wrapt faces in awe of what he was about to say. Minerva had told him the details of their previous meeting and they knew that he was facing the Wizengamot and that through certain members rumours and gossip about the trial would have begun to permeate.

"As you know three days ago I stood before a contemporary of mine under charges of Reciprocation. Several edicts were issued by Bonaccord, one of which, that was hastily withdrawn, might have meant that each and every one of you sitting before me would now be in serious trouble." Murmuring…this piece of news was not unfamiliar to them. Continuing, Dumbledore smiled, raising his hands until his arms were raised in a "V".

"Under their own rules they cannot stop us!" His joyful voice rang out around No. 12's packed living room. "Cornelius Fudge would dearly like the Universal Link, do not get me wrong on this score, as I have said before. "It would seem he would do anything to get it including sending Dolores Umbridge and a Mysteriour to the school. I will come onto this shortly. First I must share the main points of the trial which, quite frankly, spoiled an otherwise lovely Saturday afternoon."

This time, no sound could be heard as Dumbledore continued. Every one of them was waiting with bated breath for the head of their Order to continue.

"The Wizengamot brought forth evidence demonstrating that muggles cannot be trusted with wizard secrets. My own evidence, of Cecilia Frobisher's work did not, alas, sway them. The Wizengamot came to the conclusion that while at the same time muggles were too clever and their knowledge of the wizard world too risky to us and as such were a threat on our very way of life they were also in danger of attack from wizards themselves. This has resulted in the heightening of security surrounding muggles entering wizard communities and to those laws where blind eyes have been turned they will be turned no longer. This includes the involvement of a muggle in their school."

All was silent again for a few moments until one of the Order spoke.

"_Their _school?" Elspet Banks raised a hand questioningly as she looked at Dumbledore in alarm. "Did my poor hearing cause me to misunderstand you, Albus?" Dumbledore shook his head.

"It was made clear to me during the trial Elspet, that as Ministry taxation pays for the existence of the school that makes Hogwarts ministry property. The Minister for Magic has appointed a school improvement witch whose job it will be to oversee the running of Hogwarts and report back to Fudge. In addition another Ministry employee has been appointed to complete the teaching of Muggle Studies." Dumbledore looked around the room again as a forest of hands responded to his last comments.

"Before I continue with further details of the Wizengamot – "

"Was he there?" Molly Weasley's voice rang out shrilly though her question was not directed at Dumbledore. Instead she was looking at her husband. "At the Wizengamot. Did you see Percy?"

A shadow of worry crossed the face of Arthur Weasley as he recalled the look of mortification that had crossed his son's face and he gave his wife a "we'll talk about this later," look.

"Moody?" Dumbledore looked across at the old Auror who had raised his walking stick to indicate he wished to contribute.

"So, these are anti-muggle laws, at last." It wasn't a question: Alastor Moody looked solemnly around the room at the other Order members. "The Ministry, in their wisdom think that muggles are the threat rather than Death Eaters and Voldermort?"

"And by the time they work it out it'll be too late!" Tonks's voice rang out shrilly, from her seat near the front. Many of the Order stared in her direction; her tone was one of alarm, which to many who knew her was alien to them. Minerva McGonagall got to her feet and stood next to Dumbledore, her expression drawn and her lips pursed.

"Voldermort was left powerless in the Great Battle; had it not been for you, Albus," Minerva ignored Dumbledore's dismissive wave of the hand, "following the debacle beforehand. Now he is looking for another chance to arise." Dumbledore turned to McGonagall, whose shade of green robes had toned down (as if by themselves) to match her grave demeanour and waited for her to be seated.

"The Ministry, in their wisdom, has decided to dispose of the information we so kindly sent to them in February. As many of you know the Order was supposed not to exist. I designed its termination to coincide with defeating of Voldermort. This, of course, did not happen and the consequences are that he has, though barely, survived and as this is the case will be seeking to regain full power."

"Therefore I am before you to call for the resurrection of the Order, in the same form as it was before, with the same aim of defeating Voldermort. Before I call for the vote, may I draw your attention to our newest members, who offered me their services during the Easter holidays." Dumbledore looked across to the third row, where the Weasley twins were sitting, grinning widely. They got to their feet.

"Friends – " began George,

"Romans, countrymen," added Fred, beaming at the Order. There was a hiss of disapproval from behind them which sounded like Molly Weasley telling her sons to stop being idiots.

"When we came to the conclusion that taking our NEWTs would in fact not benefit our future," continued Fred unabashed, "and we started up our own business – "

" – Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – " chipped in George.

" – quite so," nodded Fred, "we approached Dumnbledore about applying. Naturally, with our good looks and skills he accepted us." There was one or two smothered giggles from the Order members though one or two were not laughing: Molly Weasley sat behind them, ashen faced; Minerva McGonagall at the front, impassive; Snape, standing to Dumbledore's right, immobile.

"We wish to continue with the good work that our family has done towards getting rid of Voldermort," continued George, an altogether more solemn tone, "and as upstanding citizens we will do what we can to make our family proud."

As George finished, nodding solemnly around the room with Fred, a round of applause burst forth, sealing the twins' accession into the Order.

"Hear hear!" cried someone as the atmosphere grew lighter and more celebratory. Mrs Weasley leaned forward as the twins sat down and hugged them both, a move that both Fred and George tried to shake off immediately.

"Now you have heard from our newest members," summarised Dumbledore, glancing around again, "I call upon you, Order witches and wizards, to vote upon our future. Are we to continue with the Order of the Phoenix, its aim the same as it was before?"

The verdict was unanimous. At Dumbledore's words every person before him had their hands raised in favour of the Order's continuation. One or two glanced around, beaming in delight; others such as Elphias Dode and Mundugus Fletcher more reserved in their gesture.

"In that case, may the Order of the Phoenix arise?"

Once the clapping and cheering was over, with many wizards hugging each other and shaking hands, Dumbledore proceeded to describe to the Order the exact nature of the security laws which Fudge had alluded to during the Wizengamot trial. Slowly and reverentially, without allusion to blame Dumbledore described the change in security, how muggles would no longer be allowed to enter wizard settlements, how Umbridge would be undertaking a new role, that of an inspector to ensure the new curriculum is adhered to and delivered correctly with a worker from the Ministry teaching muggle studies. On describing their new colleagues Dumbledore looked at Snape and McGonagall.

"A letter arrived to inform us of the decision," continued Dumbledore, as steadily as he had begun. "This was followed up, after the end of the trial, by an audit carried out by the Dolores Umbridge and Tabitha Penwright yesterday, who went on to brief the staff on their failures to stick to the curriculum. As we know, school will recommence teaching on tomorrow, Wednesday. The Hogwarts Express we know left this morning and the students will be about halfway there by now. There seem to be fewer this term returning to school and this is something that I will be investigating in due course. Yes Molly?"

"What does the Ministry hope to gain from an inspector, Dumbledore?" Molly Weasley was wringing her hands and looking alarmed.

"A maintenance of quality and integrity amongst the teaching staff and consistency in what is taught. Now – "

"And the security measures? What of muggle-borns?" interrupted Molly, still looking concerned. Dumbledore smiled, before embracing the whole room with his eyes.

"…Sturgis can you enlighten us?" He smiled wider at Sturgis Podmore, whose job had been to draft the Security Act. As soon as Dumbledore had acknowledged his contribution the small, stocky wizard got to his feet (bowler hat still atop his head) and he wrinkled his upper lip thoughtfully.

"Muggles have been barred from entering any wizarding settlements unless they gain a permit and have sought prior permission in writing. This, indeed, caused trouble in Diagonalley yesterday – " he nodded his head towards Mrs Weasley, " – for muggle-born witches and wizards whose parents wanted to take them shopping before Hogwarts. In addition," continued Sturgis, looking over the heads of the wizard as if reading from a large script that hung invisibly above them, "all so-called half breeds have been called into line with their laws being made clear to them and any breaking of those laws are being investigated in an individual basis. The ministry has put out several dozen warrants for arrests of those wizards who have violated the new laws already. All muggles who are not in a legally binding relationship with a wizard as of Friday evening will be befuddled."

At Sturgis's last sentence uproar ascended from the seated wizards, outrage pouring from them like steam from an engine. Shouts of disbelief and indignation echoed around 12 Grimmauld Place's living room and the din was so loud it awoke Mrs Black in her picture frame at the top of the stairs. In amongst the cacophony one wizard sat quietly, bowing his head.

"But, they cannot stop our meetings!" declared Arthur Weasley triumphantly over the noise. At his words many of the wizards suspended their vocal discord. "I mean," he continued, getting to his feet and addressing the Order unannounced, "he was going to until Frances Wemm pointed out that it would include the minister's Gobstones club meetings!" At Mr Weasley's words a great cheer erupted before finally, without prompting by Dumbledore the Order members settled back down to listen. Dumbledore stepped forward again, ushering an immobile Sturgis to finish his sharing of ministry information.

"Oh, yes of course," continued Sirius, nodding slowly. "As a consequence of the Security Act three dozen more wizards and witches have been taken on in Kingsley's department and another fifty throughout the magical law-enforcement department." Once he had finished Sturgis gave Dumbledore a small bow before returning to his seat on the second row. "Yes, Arthur?" This time Mr Weasley had raised a hand, his eyes darting around before looking at Dumbledore.

"And Cecilia? Arthur says the decree was that you were to befuddle her, Albus."

"That is indeed correct, Molly," Dumbledore, exhaling slowly. "As far as the ministry is concerned this has been done. I took memories from other muggles in our employ many years ago. Cecilia Frobisher is safe from befuddlement; the ministry have the answer they were looking for and the memories contain what the ministry want to believe about the events rather than what actually went on." Dumbledore clasped his hands together in a gesture of gratitude, looking at the ministry employees amongst them. "And I thank the you who, at the Ministry, took every opportunity to lose vital information, disrupt its flow or otherwise mislead our government representatives, especially Kingsley – " Dumbledore looked across at the dark-skinned wizard, the most senior in the ministry, " – who incinerated a whole filing cabinet in the auror office and another stack in the law enforcement department." Every Order member looked across at Shacklebolt and the usually cool-tempered, austere Kingsley looked furtively round the room, before smiling at the Order, his face tinged with red.

"Now under judgment," began Kingsley, ignoring Dumbledore's acclaim to his misdemeanours, "the information has been destroyed and the ministry staff returned to their proper jobs."

"So they're ignoring it? Is that what you mean?" Doris Crockwood, an elderly witch bedraped in a vivid, multicoloured shawl called out to Kingsley from the front. Kingsley didn't answer, but turned to Dumbledore who was already resuming his position before them.

"It means, Doris, that we are back in business!" This time, the Order cheered.

"And Mrs Frobisher?" Tonks raised her hand from the back of the throng as the jubilation ebbed and died. "What of she?"

"Yes, what of she, Lupin? asked Fred, nudging George. The Weasley twins in the Order, thought Remus, sighing. What a picnic that's going to be.

"When are you two tying the knot?" asked George, winking. A snort of disapproval came from behind the twins, and Fred turned to their mother, whispering something to the effect that George was only asking.

"Not yet," confessed Remus, closing his eyes momentarily. "However there will be one, eventually."

"She'll look beautiful," said Mrs Weasley, frowning at her errant sons. "But, what's to become of her before then?" The question hung in the air as Dumbledore scanned the Order members again, before nodding slowly in their direction.

"Her work will continue as planned; she is well protected at the Lupin cottage and in collaboration with Severus she will continue to refine Harry's potion. I have discussed the implications with Harry, about the prophecy and our plan of action. He – "

" – Harry's still a child," interrupted Sirius. "I do not believe…" He trailed off as Dumbledore raised a hand.

"I have put the proposal to Harry, it is true," said Dumbledore quietly. "However the choice is still his."

"And the potion?" asked Moody, turning to look at Severus Snape. "Can you tell us more about that, Snape? Perhaps with less technical language?"

"We are still working on that," said Snape, stiffly. "We are in the process of refining what we had last time, in order for it to be more stable when Harry takes it again." From his position two seats away Remus pulled out a letter which he passed to Sirius to hand to Snape. Wordlessly, Snape stowed it away inside his robe, nodding briefly at Remus.

"What about the location of our planned attack," continued Sirius. "I know we discussed that it would be in the Ministry." Dumbledore nodded.

"It is the predetermined place; the Department of Mysteries is the where Voldermort – ", even now some of the Order flinched at the name, " – will make his attack. I have informed Harry of what is kept there."

"You say he has a choice," said Molly slowly, her voice quavering and soft again. "How did he take the news of the prophecy?"

"I explained to him that the choice was his." Nodding around the room the news appeared to have satisfied many, although one or two of the Order, notably Sirius and Molly Weasley appeared less comfortable.

"Do we have news of Voldermort, Dumbledore?" Bathsheba Braddle raised a slim hand.

"We have limited information now Severus is no longer a trusted spy, a situation I intend to rectify in due course. Severus's quest is to continue with the potion, and to teach, of course. It is sought by the ministry and, as the new Muggle Studies teacher is from the ministry, she is therefore seeking the Universal Link in order to furnish Fudge with the satisfaction that they have it, even if they do not understand it. The link is vital to our plan, so it is necessary for us to endeavour that they do not find out what it is – "

"Indeed," added Snape, getting to his feet. "Cecilia Frobisher has since refined her hypothesis." Around him a sea of blank faces looked back at him.

"We have refined our understanding of what the Universal Link is, " he reiterated slowly, as if talking to particularly dense fifteen year olds, "and how it connects muggles and wizards. It is not as straightforward as we thought."

"These things never are," nodded Minerva sagely.

"And you are going to share this, Severus?" asked Sirius. Slowly Snape turned his head to the master of the house.

"When thing become more apparent. More damage might be caused if we were lax in our conception of the link. And I am sure, with your concern about your Godson, you would prefer us to be working on a sound theory, Sirius."

"Indeed." Sirius nodded in agreement. Before he could continue Dumbledore stepped in, perhaps a subconscious act borne from the inevitable argument that used to be the result of a conversation between the two wizards.

"Witches and wizards of the Order, there is plenty that is not clear and this I beg you dear friends and colleagues, to be patient. It will come. The finer details are being secured but our plan is the same. Voldermort will enter the Ministry and, more specifically the Department of Mysteries. From there he will launch an attack for he is after something in addition to the prophecy.

The Order of the Phoenix has been reborn, and we are resurrected. It is up to us to ensure, as we have always done by whatever means we can, that he doesn't get it."

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A/N: The more reviews I get the quicker the next chapter will be!


	9. Fight

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please, please review!

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At the same time that the most talked-about secret organisation was in mid-discussion, Tabitha Penwright walked hastily down Diagonalley. Hogwarts was her destination that afternoon and her urgency was buoyed by the chink of an opportunity to return to the office and see her colleagues before her flooing to her new place of employment.

Weaving her way through witches and wizards who were going about their business on this most magical of streets Tabitha tried not to think of the burden of her task ahead of her, pressing like a weight upon her chest as the list that Umbridge had given to her of supplies that she needed to take with her to her new place of work burned like a lighted match in her inner robe pocket. The sooner she got them, Tabitha told herself, the sooner she could return to work – her real work – for a few precious hours.

Tabitha turned to look at the shop names before locating the one she wanted and then stepping into the doorway of Flourish and Blotts. The wizard behind the counter barely looked up from his newspaper as she opened the door hastily before making her way swiftly to the "Academia" section of the shop, pulling out the shopping list. As she hastily removed the titles that she needed ("Magic and Muggles"; "Your Way in the Muggle World" and, "Muggles – Too Great a Risk to Take?") Tabitha thought about what she would have to do with the books when she got back to Hogwarts. Make the students read them presumably, she concluded as she took the books to the counter; they were on the new reading list that had been sent to all students undertaking Muggle Studies so presumably that meant it was her job to get them to know what the books were saying.

The wizard behind the counter carefully put down his "Prophet" and took the books from Tabitha's outstretched hand, making very little eye contact with her. Tabitha, in turn, said nothing to the wizard as he asked for payment (G38) before seizing a bundle of fresh quills from the display at the front.

"That'll be another ten galleons," qualified the wizard, looking at the quills instead of Tabitha. "South American porcupine; I only stock the best." She nodded as he carefully wrapped the quills in brown paper before taking the forty-eight galleons from her, sliding the coins into the wooden tray of the till.

"We've got a new stock of self help books in," commented the wizard, finally looking at her. "Some lovely new ones: "Overcoming Low Elf Esteem" by Florence Branch; she's the one who wrote the bestseller of last year, "Awakening the Sleeping Dragon Within"; did you read it? And if that's not for you there's the one by Gordon Grimley, "Reinventing your Life – How to Break Free from Muggle Life Patterns". The wizard opened his hand towards the promotional stands. Tabitha looked back at him doubtfully.

"And why would you suppose that I would want self-help books?" Do I look that in need of help, she thought to herself.

"No reason, no reason," said the wizard, backing away from her. "Only, you look like a witch with a lot on her mind."

Despite herself, Tabitha nodded. Dolores Umbridge was the main thing on her mind with the things she expected of her. Her boss's introduction of Tabitha at Hogwarts as a paradigm of good teaching practise and the subsequent expressions from her future colleagues: that was certainly on her mind, as too was the impending return of Umbridge a month later with the aim of reviewing her teaching. The fact that she still had on her the potion she had been given to investigate that Dumbledore had thrown to her at the Grand Trial: it was weighing heavily. But above all it was the anticipatory dread of returning of going back to her old school that was causing her the most anxiety.

Looking at the stand which the slim wizard had been signalling just now Tabitha selected the new Florence Branch title before handing the wizard behind the counter a further eight galleons and headed quickly out of the bookshop.

What next, what next muttered Tabitha to herself as she headed further along Diagonalley, scuttling and hurrying as if her last purchase in Flourish and Blotts had been more of an embarrassment to herself above anyone else before she came upon Madam Emaness's shop which had, in its time, been "Gladrags: The Shop for All Occasions".

Let's hope it is still the shop for all occasions, thought Tabitha as she ran through the outfits that she needed to buy and the anxious feeling returned to the pit of her stomach. Fight it, she urged herself fiercely, ignore the mudblood taunts…ignore the squib taunts…ignore them all…

fight it…

Once inside Emaness calm enveloped her. The rows and rows of outfits hung still and quiet, as if a curtain to her emotions and Tabitha began to search quickly for an everyday frock and cloak and a formal set. Seizing ones that were closest to her size Tabitha turned down Deirdre Emaness's insistence that they be altered to fit her and, paying for them swiftly she left leaving the owner of the clothes shop bemused and slightly annoyed at the rebuttal of her services.

Making her way back up Diagonalley again towards The Leaky Cauldron Tabitha's mind tried to settle on something comforting to soothe her nerves. The Leaky Cauldron was only about half a mile from the main entrance of the Ministry for Magic and though she could have floo'd from the pub Tabitha chose to make it on foot.

To say that magic didn't come naturally to Tabitha Penwright was actually not too short of the mark. She had received her Letter for Hogwarts, literally falling from the sky (having been dropped, Tabitha had surmised later, by an owl) right beside her. She was twelve. One year older than everyone else attending Hogwarts for the first time. One year where she had been at her local comprehensive Shirehall, making friends and fitting in. She remembered catching the Hogwarts Express, sitting alone as the children around her talked and laughed, casting spells and charms. She had arrived at Hogsmeade Station and followed the children of her own age up to the castle little realising the agony that was to become her new school life.

Back at Hogwarts. Well, she was teaching muggle studies after all so it didn't make any difference whether she could perform spells or not.

The pavement under her feet began to feel warmer as Tabitha approached the entrance to her work; whether it actually _was_ warmer or if it was just her imagination she didn't know. Just the knowledge that she was nearly home, nearly back at the place she belonged made not just her feet but all of her feel warm. This was the place that she could achieve; use her talents to solve mysteries that others could not. At Hogwarts, this gift went un-noticed under the mire of inadequacies that made up each of her lessons. Anxiety had pinched Tabitha at every turn as her inabilities were highlighted to her, though without anyone watching her she was actually not too bad. Her fear of failure had been the bane of her life and it was at times such as those when the ability to do magic seemed to leave her.

Her magical incompetence had caused a certain amount of teasing at Hogwarts her first year there and exams had caused exactly the same feeling and she had failed every single one of them. Her mother had not been pleased, saying at least if she had gone to a muggle school she would have got something for her time, telling her daughter that the school sounded elitist. Of course it was, Tabitha had thought at the time. She knew that her mother, who valued academia as the only route in life, blamed the system but Tabitha wasn't prepared to give up. She_ could_ do magic, though almost every time she tried it didn't work.

And then she'd made friends with a girl in Slytherin. She was quite nice, seemed to listen to her troubles, they used to chat now and again. Two years above (though only a year older: Tabitha had been put into the first year) Rena Brown seemed very nice and had seemed to understand the confused and lonely Miss Penwright. How trusting she had been, thought Tabitha as she trod the pavement hotly. How much of an idiot she had been to put her faith in her…

Tabitha soon arrived back at the Department of Mysteries her heart soaring from her plummeting recollections of time past at the brief reprieve that she had been granted before she needed to leave. Gone now were he piles of ministry paperwork; Gregor had explained this morning how some senior wizards (Umbridge included) had removed them from their filing cabinets and performed the "Incendio" charm. Much to their amusement her boss explained, some of the documents appeared to have a mind of their own, dodging the spell as it came their way with one extremely errant parchment making its great escape into the corridor before being zapped by Dawlish. Tabitha smiled at the thought of the paperwork resisting certain death but was glad that she hadn't been there. Umbridge had agreed with her that Tabitha would make her own way to Hogwarts and she would catch up with her a few days in. The last thing she wanted was for Umbridge to remember and decide to come with her after all.

On her desk parchments pertaining to her real work lay, now exposed to the artificial light in the office. Tabitha picked up the first page, reading through the information contained therein and trying her best to recall when she had last put her mind to her mystery. At least three months ago she concluded; any real work that is. The opportunities she had taken while this whole business of Dumbledore's secret society and Voldermort's return had been rare indeed and not much use; she needed all of her mind focused on her mystery in order for it to reveal itself to her, as it had begun to shortly after Christmas.

Feeling inside the first drawer of her desk Tabitha retrieved a quill and began the process of summarising her summarisings that she had previously made, pulling her mind back into the rhythm of her work. At least she could use her talents here she mused idly, as she leafed back to her original documents at the bottom her pile, and it was not like she was alone. It had been her second cousin Sturgis who had surprised her on her last day of school, when she had set her mind to return to the muggle world and suggested that she apply for a position in the ministry.

And from the day that she had entered the lobby of the Ministry for Magic, with her cousin in close proximity, Tabitha had never looked back. Far from her life closing behind her while she tried to re-establish a life, of sorts, with magic in absentia, when she entered the Department of Mysteries, wherein Sturgis had explained a position was available, it blossomed like a rare orchid in a gainful environment.

Was this was what a wizard was like, Tabitha had thought in wonder as she was shown around the inner chamber? As if an electrical current had been attached to her shoulders urging her hindbrain on? It had felt as if the whole world had opened up for her and for the first time in her life she felt that she could achieve anything. And, despite the rather large obstacle in her way (Umbridge) she nevertheless succeeded and became a Mysteriour.

Gregor (he didn't seem to have a first name) was the head of department then (it had only been in the last year when Umbridge's responsibilities had changed and she had acquired this as yet another ministerial office but she had been on Tabitha's interview panel all those years ago) who had told her that she was a natural. Tabitha knew that people in the wizard work didn't say that lightly but no sooner had she filled in the application and was interviewed by Umbridge she was being told by the Undersecretary that the Ministry didn't usually make a habit of employing muggle-borns. Had not Sturgis and Gregor spoken on her behalf her application would have been rejected. Umbridge had then taken her back through to what was now her office and grudgingly informed her that she had got the job.

That had been twelve years ago. Tabitha Penwright had spent every minute of her working life since using her unique talent unravelling mysteries, the latest one of which had brought her a small amount of localised fame.

But that wasn't going to happen with her new mystery; her boss had seen to that. In a few hours she would be standing by the fireplace next to her desk, staring at the obsidian-black tiles that shaped the flue holding a handful of green dust, on the brink of her world concertina-ing in on itself.

Looking back at her notes, detailing the precise spells she had used thus far and the physical properties of her mystery both inside and out, Tabitha's mind was soothed by the balm of comforting thoughts. Her next course of action was to decide how its contents could be stored more efficiently, how they could be secured and what precisely the long-term effects of storage within the department within the ministry would be. Seeing as she had been to her knowledge the only person to have explored within, the solution of this mystery was entirely in her hands.

And sidelined in favour of more pressing matters, said a little voice inside her head that Tabitha had always associated with her mother's pressure of will on her. The mouse of the family who became the once she had begun Hogwarts, like magic was a horrid disease that was never spoken (only whispered) about, a betrayal of everything they had given to her and that she had to apologise for her affliction at every turn by being willing to do what was asked of her, a role her mother had long since passed over to Umbridge when the witch became her boss.

As she read the notes on the fourteenth parchment that afternoon Tabitha recalled the road block at the bottom end of Diagonalley, near the Gringott's entrance – the muggle entrance – people packed against the barriers there and officials barring their way. What had been going on there, Tabitha wondered as she read again the descriptions of the shape and dimensions of her mystery…

…and then, Vincento was there…that was the best description there was: he didn't open the door or floo or apparate. One minute he wasn't there and the next minute he was stepping out of the shadow of the first filing cabinet as if he was part of the fabric of the room itself. Tabitha had worked with him for almost the whole time she had been a Mysteriour but his unusual method of entry still took her by surprise.

"Vin!" Tabitha let the parchment in her hand flutter down to the table and smiled at her colleague who grinned back at her before making his way over to her when her face fell.

"Why're you back here, Tabs?"

"Where've you been?"

"Not at Hogwarts till this afternoon."

"Visiting Simon."

The Mysteriours smiled at each other and Tabitha resisted the urge to claim a supportive hug from her friend (not least because she developed a strange, disoriented feeling when she was in that close a proximity with him); if she became too comfortable at the office then her nerve would fail and she wouldn't leave.

"How is he? Still thinks he's a coelacanth?" Simon Picklestree was their other colleague, who had been in St. Mungo's for the last eight months because of spell backfiring whilst working on his mystery, Pandora's Box. Vincento smiled again and nodded.

"He's getting better though; he's not conjuring large amounts of water to swim in now." Tabitha smiled, remembering her last visit and leaving the hospital wearing a full gallon of brine. "Tell me you don't have to go and you've decided to give Umbridge a piece of your mind and you're staying here so we can get to the bottom of our real work?" Vincento waved his hand towards his desk, frowning as Tabitha shook her head.

"I'm not at Hogwarts till this afternoon." Tabitha repeated her earlier words slowly; much as she liked her favourite colleague sometimes he didn't catch everything she said. "And that's probably because you decided not to bother to even look at your mystery with all the other work that you managed to avoid." She shook her head in mock-reproach as Vincento grinned with delight at Cecilia's calling of attention to the plain facts before her.

"On the contrary, I did _some_," he replied, tapping his nose with a long finger as he leapt spryly from the edge of her desk and made his way over to his own. Tabitha nodded. On the whole, though the results of their work were valuable to the ministry, Mysteriours were not treated very seriously. Consequentially they became defensive of their work and secretive, a manner that even existed between each other. Sufficed to say that although professional interest incited Mysteriours to ask in general about the work their colleagues undertook few details were exchanged. Tabitha knew, for instance, that Vincento was working on a casket that had been discovered in vault 000 of Gringotts Bank, said to have been put there before even the bank was built, that he had yet to open it for it was holding firm even to the most magical spell. They never asked each other for too much information because their colleagues' mystery was _theirs_ – in a way, the mystery chose the Mysteriour as much as the other way round.

Well that's how Gregor described it, although chosen wasn't the best adjective to describe the innate feeling of "right-ness" that a Mysteriour felt when engaged with their mystery and as such Mysteriours respected each others' right to share as much or as little of their mystery as they wanted to. A mutual code that all Mysteriours followed: Vincento, though interested in her mystery, and too Dumbledore's potion, wouldn't dream of pressing her for details, he would wait to see if she was willing to share anything and let Tabitha take the lead. It was this manner of their work that had helped to build up the reputation of the research wing of the Department of Mysteries as being "weird" and "strange", the work that Tabitha Penwright had done, in the realms of her specialism (prophecy-interpretation) had raised their profile to a status of semi-seriousness which had resulted in their inclusion in the work from the Great Battle. With a sigh, Tabitha voiced her concerns to Vincento.

"Look," Vincento replied, taking in Tabitha's resigned expression, "if you'd not solved the prophecies then we would have been left high and dry…" Tabitha nodded slowly. Gregor wouldn't have been able to prise the orbs from the hands of the Unspeakables who had been charged with the task of cataloguing these mysterious spheres found on the bed of a river in Moldavia from which she had been able to remove the water. The nature of the prophecy had then changed and Tabitha had interpreted them with ease which meant they could now be sorted according to their true nature by the many dozens of department employees who did the day to day process and maintenance work of prophecies. Had she not done so, the department would surely have regained its reputation as a joke.

"I've just finished the entire first volume of Encyclopedia Magicka," said Vincento, and Tabitha smiled as he picked up his second mystery, bringing it over for her inspection. Once a mystery had been solved Mysteriours were more than happy to share the results with their colleagues. "A few of them caused a large headache, but in the end I got some interesting results with the French spells. I thought I had it at one point, though."

"You told me that the languages were giving you trouble." Tabitha repeated the information Vincento had told her almost a month ago, and recalled the course of action that he'd told her he would follow. Vincento smiled and perched the Encyclopedia Volume 1 on her desk.

"Well, it's nothing demonic as far as I can work out, nor Elvish, huh – I should have guessed about that, nor Trollish or Goblish. I've tried several different languages, French, Russian, Gobbledegook, Double Dutch…" Tabitha nodded. Sometimes the intonation of the words made a difference.

"And now?"

"I've tried Occidental magic; now onto Oriental. That'll give me the lead to volume 2, where the language pattern and even the shape of the letters change. I'll have to make a note of it – I'm supposed to be on the casket." Tabitha smiled as Vincento took the book back to his desk, lying it down next to the casket before dragging a chair over to her desk, sitting on it nimbly. "You?"

"Packing."

"Ah. To Hogwarts." Vincento picked up a couple of Tabitha's belongings from her desk, her picture of Egbert, her favourite carnivorous plant and her brown paper bag from "Flourish and Blotts", glancing at the titles. Tabitha shook her head, taking the books from Vincento's outstretched hand, exhaling slowly. Here it was – her new mystery.

"Can't see what good it'll do; the muggle's long gone and though I can take befuddlers at any time from here it's going to make no difference. There's sixty million people out there, sixty million muggles in Britain. She's long gone. I've got to speak to the teachers there about something called the Universal Link – "

"Never heard of it," mused Vincento distantly.

"No, its new…its what the trial was about…this muggle, Cecilia Frobisher supposedly managed to find an underlying link between muggles and wizards, but the research went after Voldermort returned, and she's in hiding. I managed to track down her rough location. And I have a feeling that the wizard she worked with is a teacher at the school. But whether that wizard will tell me anything…"

"And you've still got to go? Even if they do track down this muggle?"

"As soon as they do the trace will be activated, and we'll know for sure. Dumbledore has given Fudge her location supposedly, but my letters are still going out." Tabitha looked across at Vincento and sighed again. "They're more concerned with what the children are learning at school." She motioned to the thick curriculum document that lay weightily on her desk.

"Umbridge." Vincento almost spat the word in disgust and Tabitha nodded, recalling her attempt at involving him in the recent half-breed interrogations.

"I've got to do this other research in my spare time in between teaching muggle studies!" Tabitha threw her wand onto her desk, where it emitted yellow and blue sparks which incinerated a blank sheet of parchment on her desk.

"You're supposed to be here with the artefact," commented Vincento as they both watched the ashes of the once-parchment descend onto her desk.

"I know! Anyone would think they didn't want us down there for some reason! Anyone would think that my mystery, which admittedly has lay unresolved for hundreds, if not thousands of years, was not important." Tabitha folded her arms and stared at the floor, waiting for the annoyance to pass. Vincento waited patiently for her to continue.

"How about Gregor?"

"The usual." Both Mysteriours looked across at the pile of paperwork that seemed to have grown, before looking back at each other and grinning mirthfully which, after a few moments turned to uncharacteristic laughter.

"He got some of the post imps to sort it all last time when he couldn't get to his desk," continued Vincento, as he got agilely to his feet. "It did not going down well with Umbridge."

"Splendid," exclaimed Tabitha, feeling her face fall a little as the black cloud of impending departure settled over her head.

"I'd have him back as manager any day. He's head and shoulders better than that cow Umbridge." From his desk Vincento stopped talking, watching his colleague get resignedly to her feet. Tabitha smiled across to him wanly.

"Well," she began, pulling out a beige embroidered bag from her desk and began to pack some of her things from the top of the leather-backed desktop, glancing between her friend and her task in hand. "I've got to go, the term feast's tonight and I suppose I'd better get everything sorted out." Swinging the bag onto her shoulder Tabitha tucked her chair under her desk before walking past Vincento, opening the door onto the Department's main corridor.

"See you soon, Tabs," nodded Vincento as she closed the thick, obsidian-black door behind her. Then he glanced at their ex-boss's desk, overflowing with parchment and paper and then towards the door down to the inner room wherein sat his casket mystery before looking across to Tabitha Penwright's desk.

Once he had spotted the potion vial sitting on the corner of the desk Vincento wasted no time in seizing it and then exiting too their office and making his way after Tabitha.

"Don't forget this," he called as Tabitha made her way shakily towards the Department's outer door. Turning, Tabitha tried not to let her overwhelming gloom overcome her. Patting her on the shoulder as she took the vial out of his hand, he added, "you'll be back before you know it." Tabitha smiled again at Vincento as she risked disorientation.

"What'm I going to do without you, Vin?"

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The bogeys of the railway line clipped out their rhythmic beat as the Hogwarts Express clattered along the tracks towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the first class compartment three fifth years contemplated their return to school after a year of eventfulness. At least one of the three was considering the short time they had to complete all that they needed to in order to pass their OWLs – no. Not pass their OWLs. This student would not accept anything less than "Exceeds Expectations" in every one of their (okay, _her_) subjects.

As this author's concealment of the identity of the passengers in this particular carriage has not been carried out with much skill, imagine if you will a carriage where the three occupants are all silent as the periodic pulses of the wheels against metal rivets punctuated the silence.

It was not only her examination grades that had subdued Hermione Granger into silence: other things were on her mind at the moment. Sitting as she was entwined in Ron Weasley's arms the young witch was staring out of the window, mulling over the racing thoughts in her mind that had slowly developed since that very morning.

"Comfortable?" Ron turned to her as she wriggled slightly under his arm.

"Hm," she murmured, continuing to look out of the window at the glorious unfolding landscape as the South slowly gave way to the North. The third fifth year, glancing between the couple before turning over a page in his thick tome about magical plants, was not Harry. This had surprised both Ron and Hermione as they had arranged to meet him at King's Cross and they themselves had barely caught it, waiting as long as they did on platforms 9 and 10 for their best friend (not least to share with him their news).

What a lovely time to be returning to Hogwarts, Hermione thought as the beautiful landscape reflected the warm summer sunshine. The start of May was always so beautiful, just when the springtime had turned into summer and the freshness of the season was in the air. So unlike September when, just about now in their journey rain would ingratiate itself with the windows of the carriages.

But their OWLs were so close! The voice in her mind leapt to the front, beating back the demands of other thoughts that were residing near the top of her consciousness. They had been away far longer than they should have been. It was already May and despite her spending a lot of time at the Burrow the time to return had come and gone: Hermione was so very distracted by the thought of losing lesson time that she had taken it upon herself to write to Dumbledore personally.

Tonks had visited them in response to the letter; she had been the second person Hermione had told that she and Ron were going out (after the Weasley clan, which counted as one). Other visitors too had called at the Burrow and all-in-all, despite Hermione's anxieties, the time had actually passed relatively quickly.

On some counts. Hermione's thoughts switched to the reason she had actually been at the Burrow in the first place: Mr. Weasley had met her off the train, informing her that a law was about to come into force preventing parents of muggle-born wizards from accessing wizard buildings. He had told her that he had visited her parents who had, from what Hermione could work out, been most bemused by his visit, and they had agreed that, for the extended holidays that she should stay at the Burrow. They had also offered Mr Weasley free dental care, which had been the source of the wizard's own bemusement.

So Hermione had not seen her parents for a very long time. This, her concerns about her exams and her new relationship with Ron had given her and Tonks a great deal to talk about. The older witch soothed her woes to some extent about her exams, and had taken the trouble to check on her parents for her. In exchange for the happy (if obvious) news about Ron, Tonks expressed her clear delight in her own relationship.

She was happy, she explained to an astonished Hermione as they walked almost to Ottery St. Catchpole, very happy to be with Nick Smith. Hermione had asked her whether it bothered her that Nick wasn't a wizard and the older witch laughed, commenting that maybe there was wizard in him yet that had yet to show itself, as it had done for her father. And if not, she'd added, she didn't care.

Tonks went on to explain that despite their closeness, she didn't feel for Remus as she did for Nick. Hermione had asked her about love, what it meant; how it felt. She'd asked Tonks how people can love different people at different times in their lives, and in different ways.

"I've always thought the English language a bit impoverished when it comes to love," said Tonks, insightfully as they approached the village church. "I mean, we say we love someone, and we say we love baked beans." At this, Hermione had smiled. "There's different kinds of love. What I thought was romantic love wasn't really. I love Remus, I still do in my own way," Tonks continued as they walked around the churchyard. "Remus loved Lily because he told her first above anyone else about his lycanthropy. I think I'll always love him and that Remus will always love Lily, and Cecilia will always love Tim."

So Remus had been in love with Lily, Harry's mother…out of the window a flock of birds circled high overhead…she – Hermione – could understand that. Tonks had said that he'd been the first one he told about his being a werewolf, even before Sirius or James. Lily had always supported him. It had been he who had found them both, when Tonks was just a child; at Godric's Hollow…he'd been unable to bear the scene…this he had shared with Tonks, drawing her closer to him. Hermione gripped Ron's hand a little as she followed the birds with her eye as they were caught on the breeze in the distance and she wondered how much of this Harry knew. Ron stroked her arm as he idly flicked over a page in his comic.

But now, after this morning…and the tension about their OWL work began to gnaw…

"Harry'll be fine, you'll see." Ron turned to look at Hermione and she realised she was gripping hold of his arm very tightly. She smiled as she turned to look at him.

"Yes," she nodded, glancing over to Neville, who was still reading his hefty plant book. "I know he will. I was just thinking about the security." It was Ron's turn to smile at Hermione as she nestled closer to him. It was true, of sorts. The restrictions that had been put in place, preventing her parents from accompanying her into Diagonalley that afternoon had resulted in some ugly scenes including muggle-born wizards and witches being herded into an alley next to Gringotts and the entrance being sealed. Hermione had returned an hour later but the muggles, including her parents had gone.

"After all we've been fighting for these years and now our own Ministry has put such harsh terms in place, I worry abut mum and dad…" Ron reached down to stroke her hand, a far different response than when she'd first mentioned her background at the start of the summer, when she had felt compelled to defend her learning of science. Then, they'd had a mild argument about this: Ron had noticed the letter sent by Mrs Frobisher and told her that it was beneath her when she was a witch. Hermione had explained rather forcefully that even though she was a witch she also had some muggle background and besides, Mrs Frobisher had shown how both of them were connected.

And then Ron had agreed to help her. Their operation had to be cloak and dagger so that Mrs Weasley wouldn't find out that she was communicating with their ex-muggle studies teacher using the regular owl post after Harry had returned to his aunt and uncle, taking Hedwig with him. These covert operations tended to be conducted at night and had inadvertently drawn them both together. Hermione didn't exactly know how they ended up going out; neither of them had asked one another, it had gone from sharing secrets to holding hands, to snogging. To being relaxed in each others' company.

It had been Ginny who had wheedled it out of her brother one evening at the dinner table, winding him up so much that he'd exclaimed to the astonishment of all that if boyfriend and girlfriend couldn't hold hands and spend time together there wasn't much hope left at all.

"Your parents'll be fine," commented Neville, glancing over his book at them both. "It won't be long until you see them again – it'll be the summer soon." He caught Hermione's smile as he returned to his book.

"We've got exams to do before that, though," she said softly, looking out of the window again.

"Exams, pah!" exclaimed Ron, turning over another page. "If we don't know it by now we never will."

"That's what worries me…"

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Why had she reacted like that? The memory of the still-recent argument was echoing in her ears like warning bells of a distressed ship caught up in difficulties.

She had been very defensive, mostly through guilt of having spent less time than she ought to have done on the potion for Harry in preference to her one for Remus. His reminder to her that they would be quicker at it if she were to return to Hogwarts might have actually angered her more. But how could he not tell her? That was how they worked together, on mutual honesty…

…that was how they _had_ worked together…

Cecilia's uncharacteristic pacing around the cottage's living room began to quicken as the fierce argument that seemed to have come out of nowhere replayed itself in her mind. They shared information, they worked together…

…how dare he come here and tell her to return? She's told Severus only a couple of days ago that there was no chance of her returning…

…but she could have just told him, reminded him carefully of her decision…why has she reacted like that…? And why had he argued with her so furiously? They'd argued before, there was nothing new in their disagreements, but this time…clearly there was more than just her absence from Hogwarts that was causing this chasm…

Shaking her head, Cecilia continued her pacing into the kitchen whereupon her velocity decreased and proceeded to her potion research, deciding not to speculate on what reasons they might be.

Why had she reacted like that?

Snape stared at the information laid out on the desk in his room in the teachers' quarters. He barely had time to inform her of his progress in both physical and biological sciences before…

...rising slowly Severus Snape collected up his notes and the muggle science textbooks which Cecilia had given him when he had begun to learn about this natural philosophy as an alternative explanation to magic before stowing them in a cupboard which he conjured out of thin air before returning it to the ether. It would be the best place for them come the future of the muggle studies.

Why _had_ she reacted like that?

It wasn't as if what he was suggesting was something they hadn't already discussed, and did she really expect him _not_ to argue with her? Such a row that it was between them that Snape had departed before he had lost his temper and as a result missed his opportunity to question her on the minutiae of energy absorption on the subatomic level, something which had escaped his comprehension when he recommenced his study during the Easter break.

It was during this time that he had the opportunity to delve deeper into the subject and it hadn't taken the wizard long to master most of the disparate subjects when he had applied a different mindset to its understanding. He had been loath to discuss science with Cecilia due to the critical timing of her work and instead had approached Nymphadora at the last Order meeting since the but she was more than reluctant in discussing his queries with Nick Smith, telling him to owl her at the ministry. When Snape had pointed out that this was highly inappropriate in light of the Security Act Tonks had grudgingly agreed to introduce him sometime.

Sometime! He needed the answers then and there, hence his departure to Lupin's cottage to speak to Cecilia. But it had come to nothing when Cecilia had grown defensive and then developed onto the offensive when Snape pointed out some truths…

…returning to the chair before his desk Snape mulled over the furious exchange that had ensued between him and his research partner, contemplating the edge of the precipice over which he had almost descended…

…it was the premise he had been using that had upset her, that was clear. He could see she was trying to explain it to him, she thought he was wrong and it infuriated her. She was very defensive about the concepts too, the scientific ideas. His eyes glittered as he considered Cecilia Frobisher: confinement was not suiting her at all – a suggestion which he had voiced to an already angry Cecilia despite knowing that it was likely to infuriate her further.

But the situation was hardly inclement from his point of view: it suited him for her to be there and her underlying discomfort was small price to pay for their development of the potion. To get this right he needed her to focus fully on the task in hand and for her to be close to hand…he needed to know where she was with the potion and that she was safe… if ever she got into enemy hands, all would be lost…

…no, that was not just the only reason. Somehow it was easier on his mind to know where she was…he had told Dumbledore that he believed her to be in the safest place…and it clearly suited Lupin's condition…

…Snape's mind flicked over the conundrum that was Cecilia Frobisher and felt the deep-seated feeling surge, much stronger than ever. He had never been the emotional type…when people fell ill or were injured it registered but a flicker in his internal responses. But somehow, whenever he saw her in Lupin's family cottage there was a little chink in his resolve to her presence. He could imagine how he would feel if compelled to be so confined: he _did_ know; Cecilia Frobisher had freed him from his own incarceration into a world to which he had chosen to belong almost twenty years before. And now he was willingly and actively pushing for her to stay there, even tormenting her by asking her to return to Hogwarts with him.

Glancing over his shoulder to where he had magicked the box in which he had stored his own learning of science he nodded in its direction. When he had solved this…when he understood science as she did, then he would know. With her help he would be able to refine Harry Potter's potion and uncover the deeper mystery surrounding the Universal Link in the process.

Getting to his feet, Snape looked across at the door. All of this and he had not told Cecilia about his own advances, he told himself, shaking his head in unalloyed annoyance. Mainly this had occurred because she had not given him the chance. Mainly.

Turning his mind to his own premise, Snape got to his feet. Wizard health. The key appeared to lie in the lives of those in the shadows, those that were in the gaps between wizard and muggle. Those people who had developed their natural magical talent at a late stage, or those witches and wizards who had chosen to give up their abilities by living in the muggle world. And there were also those others in the shadows; with magical abilities whose DNA did not define them wholly as wizard. Those whom the ministry were currently persecuting with vehemence.

Fleeting a mental glance at the soon to be husband of his research partner, Snape made his way over to the wardrobe, shaking out his dress robes before putting them on. And with his hypothesis of wizards on the fringes of society working away in the corner of his mind the Potions Master left his bedroom and headed towards the Great Hall, to the dreaded the feast ahead.

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"I wonder why we're getting a summer term feast?" said Ron as they approached the Great Hall. "Bit unusual, don't you think?"

"Well, it's not like we've had a smooth year," said Hermione. "I mean, we missed over a month – a month of _work_, Ron! And it's our OWL year!" She looked on, annoyed at the now-opening door, analysing the new arrangement of tables in the Great Hall as the exasperation that thought she'd had allayed following their journey back resurfaced with added concern. Ron turned from his girlfriend and looked at Harry, raising his eyebrows in exasperation.

"Let's just hope that they delay the exams, then to make up for it," said Harry, smiling a little as they walked into the Great Hall. Following his meeting with Dumbledore he had met a very happy Ron and Hermione, who told him their good news and who had forgotten to ask in detail why he had not been on the Hogwarts Express. "At least then that'll give us time to catch up."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" said Fred, as they sat halfway down at the Gryffindor table. "They never even delayed the exams when there was a real meteor shower fifty years ago, that knocked out half of the astronomy class during a revision lesson."

"Yeah," chipped in George, scanning the empty seats at the teacher's table. "Even when thirty of them were still in the hospital wing. Brought the papers to them, didn't they? I mean fancy, doing an astronomy exam in bandages all tied up – "

" – under exam conditions," finished Fred, nodding sagely at his brother.

"Well, we'll have to work extra hard then," said Ron, rolling his eyes as they took their seats. "I suppose we'll find out what's going on today, then," he added as Professor McGonagall walked across the raised dais, taking her seat, to Dumbledore's left. Once she had done this, other professors, Flitwick, Sprout, Yellis, Vector and Snape began to sit also.

"So what do you reckon'll happen to muggle studies? It's supposed to be examinable, isn't it?" said Harry, looking attentively at the door to the left of the teachers' chairs. It was possible, wasn't it, that Mrs Frobisher would come back.

"There'll be someone; but it won't be Mrs Frobisher," said Ron, absorbing Harry's astonished look. "I heard Dad tell Bill that she's wizard enemy number one; apparently everyone in the ministry is looking for her, so she's hardly likely to come back here."

Harry continued to gape at Ron, before flicking Hermione a look. The expression on her face told him that Ron had already told her this and a flash of envy filled his stomach.

"You – " Harry broke off as Fred nudged him. He looked over to the teacher's table again. The place next to Snape was now filled.

"I know her!" exclaimed Ron, grinning at Harry. "She's a Mysteriour!"

"A what?" asked Harry in astonishment. "A mysteri – err?"

"Mysteriour," corrected Ron, matter-of-factly. "She works in the Department of Mysteries. I saw her in the ministry when Dad took me in, in the hols. That was before the security measures, of course," he added knowledgeably, "but yes…"

"And her?" asked Hermione, joining in the teacher-spotting game. "The one moving the McGonagall out of her chair?"

They all looked towards the scene that was now unfolding before the entire school: Professor McGonagall, sitting in her chair, on Dumbledore's left, was being engaged in quite an animated discussion by a large witch, who was gesticulating to a chair at the end of the table. With obvious reluctance Minerva McGonagall rose to occupy it.

"She can't do that!" exclaimed George, outraged. "And what on earth is Umbridge doing here anyway?"

"Umbridge? Who's that?" asked Seamus to George, noting the twins' matching irate expressions.

"Dolores Umbridge," replied Ron, staring along with the whole of the school, including the teachers as Umbridge eased her large posterior into Professor McGonagall's chair. "She's the…Undersecretary to Minister Fudge."

"She looks terrible," whispered Hermione, turning to Ron.

"Who wouldn't, if you look like a giant's sat on you?" said Lee Jordan, sitting down next to Ron. "Well it's true!" he added defensively, as the localised group of Gryffindors snorted and stifled giggles abound.

"I wish Mrs Frobisher were here," muttered Harry, taking his seat. "I mean – "

"What? Mrs Frobisher? The one you cursed?" asked Seamus in disbelief, nudging Ron and grinning. "What was it you called her again?"

"Shut up, Finnigan!" exclaimed Hermione, as Ron nudged him in the ribs. Seamus's smile dropped and he changed the subject.

"Well, that new one looks like she's going to be a real soft touch compared to Frobisher," he continued, nudging Ron back. "Look at her: she's nearly blending in with the walls!"

It was true – Tabitha's pale complexion and robes were almost exactly the same colour as the panelling behind her. If it hadn't been for her features and the faint outline of her form she might as well have been wearing an invisibility cloak.

Soon-to-be Professor Penwright looked at the sea of faces of the students who, beginning tomorrow, would be her pupils. Anxiety quelled in her stomach as the feeling of uncertainty surged through her. Here she sat, like a clockwork toy with its spring wound, waiting to be released in the direction of goodness knows where. It wasn't as if she had much time to settle in either: she'd arrived by floo into the staff room at the end of the teachers' quarters where the meeting of the day before had been held, but no sooner had she found the room which was hers Umbridge had found her and herded her off to the Great Hall where the feast was about to start.

Glancing along the row of teachers she recalled her own surprise at the staff that were in the meeting yesterday. Tabitha had not expected to find so many of her old teachers there: McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, even Flitwick, her old head of house and the feeling of anxiety as she sat amongst them before the pupils began to rise again. They remembered her, surely. The muggle-born who couldn't do magic. The muggle-born who had failed every exam. Now, the muggle-born fit only to teach the next generation of witches and wizards about the non-magical world…

Looking along the row again a wizard caught her eye. The one with whom she needed to collaborate in order to uncover the information she required. She did not know Severus Snape; save for the scant rumours of dark deeds that had persisted after his presumed departure from Hogwarts which Tabitha remembered vaguely hearing about when she had been there and now, looking at the malevolence on the features of the wizard she could well believe there was a grain of truth. Before she could ponder further however, her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar authoritative voice.

"Welcome all of you, to a new term at Hogwarts", said Dumbledore, who had appeared to have arrived at the gold lectern with the greatest of ease. "I am heartened to see the return of so many students, in light of the dreadful events that unfolded last term in our very grounds." Nodding around, Tabitha looked at the faces of wrapt anticipation that almost every child was wearing, enthralled as they were by their headmaster.

"I am pleased to announce we have our full complement of staff, who will be on hand to assist you with the extra work you'll be undertaking to make up for the time you missed – " a collective groan echoed around the hall. Harry glanced across at Hermione, who was grinning happily at the news. Ignoring the sound of discord the Headmaster nodded at the students, waiting for the noise to fall as he gestured towards the teachers' table.

"To our school we welcome two new colleagues: first, our partner in the ministry, Dolores Umbridge, who you will see from time to time in your lessons. She is here to ensure assurance in your lessons." Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgement as Umbridge got to her feet, saying nothing but beaming a smile at the Hogwarts students.

"You have heard of the security measures put in place for our protection," Dumbledore continued as Umbridge took her seat again, "and the horrifying incidents this morning including muggle permits." Around the hall murmurs sprang up and a low hum of uncertainty began to circulate. Over the ebbing noise, which fell to nothing in the presence of their headmaster, Dumbledore spoke. "I was gravely concerned on hearing the news this afternoon and ensured all parents and guardians who were in need of these permits received them. I understand that this enabled access to platform nine and three quarters."

A couple places up Tabitha saw Umbridge tense. It had been she, Tabitha knew, who had instructed parents of muggle-borns be denied access to the platform in the name of security.

"Our muggle studies programme will be continuing under the new ministry-prescribed curriculum beginning this year, which rolls out to all subjects as of tomorrow. I have the pleasure to introduce – "

But Tabitha's introduction to the student body was not to be heard for, as Dumbledore spoke, Umbridge got back to her feet before making her way to the front of the teachers' table before planting herself next to Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, children!" Umbridge beamed at the students, her mouth smiling at them brightly. "It is such an honour to be standing here in front of you today!" Next to her, Dumbledore stepped aside as Umbridge usurped his position before the lectern.

"I have been warmly welcomed to your school and, having seen you arrive, happy and bright-faced here today it has thrilled me to know that the changes in its wisdom that the ministry has made, and will make a difference to your lives." Umbridge nodded at the students, in the same way as Dumbledore had done but, Tabitha noticed, it did not have the same effect. Talking and muttering, with the occasional stifled laugh persisted amongst the students. Unabashed, Umbridge continued.

"As many of you realise a new Security Act has been introduced in light of the threats that abound. We, the ministry, do not believe you should live your lives in fear of these threats, namely baseless rumours about dark wizards and witches. The Security Act has resulted in a tiny amount of unfortunate inconveniences to a few of you, but who could disagree that this is a small price to pay for the peace of mind that the Act ensures you."

"Bloody hell," said Ron to Harry, glancing over at Hermione. "I've never seen her so mad. If looks could kill…"

"My role here at Hogwarts is of an advisor only. I will not be teaching you – " a stifled cheer arose and then fell, " – more is the pity! But you can attend your lessons, sports and other activities in the knowledge that the ministry is there beside you, holding your hand every step of the way. And now, I would like to introduce another member of the ministry, who is to educate you in the ways of muggles, Miss Penwright!"

Suddenly, Tabitha realised that every pair of eyes in the room were on her, as if a spotlight had been trained in her direction. She looked at Umbridge in terror, only to find that the Undersecretary was urging her to her feet. Without any will to resist the new Hogwarts muggle studies teacher rose.

"Look at her!" exclaimed Dean Thomas aghast. "Muggle studies teacher?"

"Looks like she could be Binns's right hand witch – she looks as dead as him," declared Seamus, shaking his head.

"Is she really from the ministry?" Hermione looked at Ron, who was busily tucking into a brightly-coloured striped blancmange in front of him. Putting down his spoon, Ron nodded, leaned across to Hermione. Instinctively, Harry leaned in too.

"Dad had to send her his reports, sometimes," he whispered, looking between his two friends. "She works in the Department of Mysteries. Well, I suppose if it's an exam subject – "

"She's an Unspeakable?" interjected Harry, looking back at their new muggle studies teacher and then back at his friend.

"No, a Mysteriour. Unspeakables do the day to day stuff, monitoring, collecting, recording. Mysteriours they handle the research magic, the uncrackable stuff. No-one sees them, usually…really weird, they are…"

"Yeah, she looks it," said Harry, sneaking a look at Tabitha Penwright.

…and the feast continued…

Everything would be all right, thought Tabitha as she followed the strangely-dressed house elf who had, by all accounts, been instructed to take her back to her correct room (she had apparently left her belongings in the wrong one) Everything would be fine.

Okay, tomorrow she would have to give her first lesson, to a group of fifth years in the subject of muggle studies and she was completely at a loss as to what she was going to do or how she was going to do it. Okay, when she had approached Snape about their work Dolores Umbridge talked over her and informed him wizard-to-wizard that his patience would be tested for, though Penwright was skilled in mysteries other wizardly skills were beyond her. Okay, when Umbridge departed in the company of a very unfortunate McGonagall Snape had told her with a look which, if actualised, would have frozen Tabitha to the spot, that if she her magic was as useless as her geographical location of her bedroom he would not stoop to the ignominy of collaboration, especially if she turned out to be a squib (clearly her reputation preceded her, too). And okay, she hadn't the first clue about what it was she was supposed to be discovering and how, seeing as the ministry had had mountains of information about them for months and still not been able to ascertain the secret of a connection between muggles and wizards that the muggle Cecilia Frobisher had determined. Okay, all of those things were against her…

…but the ministry was here now, and once the measures Dolores had discussed were put in place, everything would be fine; everything would be all right.

Closing the door when the elf had finished fussing over her misplacement of her belongings in what would seem to be Snape's room, Tabitha looked around her. Her new room. The place she was live in for the next three months. Treading the flagstones she located the bag in which her carnivorous plants were residing and she removed them, placing them on the desk that stood to one side of the room. There, much better.

And then the new muggle studies teacher, comforted by her faith in the government and filled with the bright confidence of someone who was entirely unaware of what the future was to hold began read from the new ministry curriculum the prescribed lesson that she would be delivering to her fifth year class first thing in the morning. Dolores was in charge. Everything _would_ be okay.

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Why had he reacted like that?

Potion abandoned, her mind overwhelmed with the disharmony that the argument between them had created Cecilia had taken to pacing, this time in the kitchen. He blamed her for deserting them: that was why he had been so angry. Dumbledore had read out the resignation letter, he'd said. Cecilia hadn't intended him to do so, and Severus had taken exception to it, clearly interpreting in her actions as a betrayal.

It hadn't been so much what Snape had said that was disturbing Cecilia, but the ferocity with which they had fought. His failure to encourage her back to Hogwarts, perhaps that had been the problem, but surely he could see that her day in day out persistence with Harry's potion and the questions that were still surrounding it was proof enough of her commitment.

He had questioned her motives, but it had been her answer to this, unrevealed to her research partner – her _ex_-research partner – could have provoked him.

Why had she written it? She could easily have remained a member of the Order of the Phoenix…after all, the work she was doing fell under its remit. But it had been her wish to express her commitment to Remus, to him personally over and above her research: that had been her motive.

She hadn't explained this to Severus Snape – it wasn't his business. But clearly he had taken exception to her undisclosed answer. So why had she taken it out on Severus? It wasn't his fault…but maybe he felt like she was deliberately being uncooperative. Whatever the cause it had led him to express bald truths.

She had broken her promise, he'd said. She, Cecilia Frobisher, had promised to do what she could to help Harry and the Order. He could rectify this, Snape had explained, with little effort on her part. He had brought her belongings to the cottage and it would take equally little effort to return then to Hogwarts!

Making her way over to the window, Cecilia sat on the arm of the armchair, watching the waning sun, still bright in the sky but clearly in its descent towards the horizon.

What had annoyed her most of all was not what Snape had said: part of her _did_ want to be back at Hogwarts. But she had made her decision. She wanted to be with Remus more.

Holding onto the chair Cecilia felt her stomach lurch as sharp stabs of her fierce argument with Snape spread agonisingly on her cerebellum as if hot beads of molten iron were landing there. Logically, she could return to Hogwarts and still have a relationship with Remus Lupin. They could still be engaged…why would she need to be with him here?

But that isn't the reason, is it? A little voice at the back of Cecilia's mind rang out like a lone tolling bell amongst the confusion.

– Cecilia felt the nausea in her stomach rise again and she held onto the arm of the chair again, waiting for the dizzy, heady feeling to pass. She had begun to feel like that of late; she'd felt it when Sirius had been there the other morning, and when Remus had arrived home a couple of days ago, when he had told her about the werewolf code investigations. It was almost as if, being in a muggle house, that residual magic was affecting her.

And she hadn't even had the opportunity to discuss with Snape her theory about the continuum, that there was a variation in wizards and muggles that made not only a difference in what spells they could do, but whether they were predispositioned to be magical at all; their genetics making little difference.

Putting the upset of her argument with Snape aside Cecilia allowed the dammed up questions relating to her premise to flood the plains of her consciousness…

…is there a certain level of magical ability that tips someone over the edge – the line between being unable to do magic and doing it? What about spells that can be conducted? Does that vary? And what about the type of magic? What triggers the changeover point? How does the environment affect wizards? And their decisions to become magicless? Can it happen for other reasons? How much of this was speculation and was it doing Harry's potion any good in giving them thought? What factors influence how early or late magical ability manifests itself with those people who have the genetic potential for it?

Focus. You need this information for Harry's potion, nothing more. Keep that in mind when you're dealing with this otherwise you'll be immersed in it too much. Remus doesn't deserve that.

Waiting for another wave of nausea to pass Cecilia got to her feet and made her way back to the utility room. The theory made sense, but proving it was another matter. But if she could then it would be the key, she was sure, to refining the potion that Harry would take to overcome Voldermort. And that was more important than any of her suppositions.

Before she put aside the pursuit of the answers to her questions and recommenced the next batch of potion base Cecilia found out some clean parchment sheets, writing down the questions that had leapt to mind upon them, folding them up and reaching for the tin of green powder that would allow the letters to be delivered swiftly to Severus Snape, Mr Weasley and Sirius Black by floo.

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Exhilarating. That was the word Nymphadora Tonks had sought to describe the excitement and thrill of the last few days. Not that she had understood very much of Nick Smith's work, but what a caper! At least the worker whose identity she had borrowed today had technically experienced a free day off and it had resulted in her being able to spend an extra eight hours with him that day. Not that her bosses at work would have approved – if it wasn't muggle-baiting (which deliberate confusion of muggles technically was) then depriving a muggle place of work one of their employees could be deemed as misuse of muggle artefacts. Much as she would have loved to have repeated the affair the next day, Tonks was well aware that her long weekend away from work had to come to an end sooner or later, as was her absence from her own bed at her parents' house.

Yes, nodded Tonks to herself as she kissed Nick on the cheek again, the warm swell of…exhilaration…of exhilaration broke, allowing the wondrous feelings to fill her up from head to toe.

"Your hair," murmured Nick, uncharacteristically noticing her appearance. "Interesting shade of magenta." Tonks turned and looked at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on Nick's bedroom wall. Magenta, indeed her hair had become, but her head was glowing as if each strand had been coated in a thin layer of gold.

"I'll miss you tonight," nodded Nick as Tonks withdrew her wand.

"Me too. Of you," she clarified as Nick took a few steps away from her. Home was where she needed to be tonight; she'd decided it was time, both chronologically and appropriately to spend time with her mother and father. Not that she had to justify her absence but she knew her mother would begin to have suspicions. And, in a moment, courtesy of apparition, she would be standing in the hallway of her parents' house and this blissful feeling that was flowing about her would be replaced with apprehension.

She looked across at Nick, smiling warmly at him as she raised her arm. Fancy Snape asking her to meet him to discuss science; surely Cecilia was there for that. She had clearly suggested it to him, considering the letter Tonks had received from Mrs Frobisher herself.

Well, she could ask Cecilia herself in person when they next met…she had news for her…news for all of them all…

…they could go to…she could go…

Swiping her arm downwards swiftly, Tonks's mind forfeited the changing surroundings as she considered what she told Hermione: that love would overcome adversity…

…the polished floor of her home…her former home…came into view as the resentment for Cecilia Frobisher receded to nothing.

"Dora?" Her mother's voice echoed along the wood-panelled hallway into which she had apparated and Tonks registered her geography. There was more than one reason why she had returned home, not just to reveal…

…by being at home there would be no problem obtaining hair samples for Nick, so he could do his fancy science on them. It would be interesting, she was sure: her own pattern that Nick had produced from her own hair certainly was. The bars meant nothing to her, nor would those of her parents. But it was something unique, and something which drew her closer to Nick Smith and she thanked Cecilia Frobisher and Remus Lupin, and even Harry Potter for bringing them together.

"Yes, mum…I've got something I need to talk to you about..."

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A/N: I do hope you're enjoying this…productivity is proportional to reviews!


	10. Enemy's Enemy

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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Smeltings School was a vast concrete building network constructed on the site of the old Smeltings Boys' Grammar which was built on the site of a very successful steel works. The original school had burned down, its building razed to the ground in the 1960s by departing students having an end-of-year lark. That had been the official canon, duly recorded in the prospectus at any rate, although it had long been suspected that it had been an insurance job carried out by the headmaster and the extensive facilities added during the construction of the replacement school did nothing to dispel this rumour.

These days the school was independent and, as long as you were male and your parents could afford the tuition fees the school would bend over backwards to accommodate you. As far as modern thinking was concerned, Smeltings strove as hard as it could be to be inclusive by isolating vast swathes of the local population.

These were the thoughts that passed through the head of Philip McFarlane as he scanned the boys sitting before him in his English lesson, heads bent in supplication, or at least mock-supplication (many could feign work where necessary, one even citing it as a specialised skill upon his curriculum vitae). He had joined the school two years ago with the lure of a large pension and better working conditions, but the latter was in fact a fallacy. A larger wage and prospects were balanced unequally with numerous duties: those of his house; during prep and homework, meals and rest-time. In addition lessons extended to a Saturday and though only until 1 o'clock Saturday afternoons and Sundays were the realm of extra-curricular activities to which each student was expected to contribute (and which Mr. McFarlane had deftly managed to avoid for most of the year.)

Three weeks' Easter break had been a marvellous incentive, Philip could not deny this and that would have been a wonderful break had it not been filled with a week of Easter school, preparing year 9 students for their forthcoming GCSE exams, and the year 11s with their A-levels. In fact, mused Philip McFarlane grimly with the maintenance he had to pay his ex wife he had very little spare money. In fact, he would be better off working in a supermarket for what little he did have.

Shattering his jaded thoughts the raised hand of a lad near the back row brought McFarlane back to the here and now.

"Yes, Michaels? Finished that already?"

"Yes, sir."

"There should be some questions on the back, extending your understanding by – "

"Finished those too," Joseph Michaels, a slightly-built fifteen-year-old interrupted, following Philip's gaze to the filing cabinet of additional worksheets. "And those," he added, unabashed.

"What, all of them?" Philip asked, knowing what the answer was going to be. Michaels nodded as Mr. McFarlane sighed inwardly.

That was another thing. For each of the lessons, lasting an hour and a half each, you were expected to fill with one hour and twenty nine minutes of material. The boys would file in, sit themselves down and lay out their equipment in silence waiting for him to begin the lesson. Even with his problem-solving device of a well-stocked cabinet filled with every conceivable pedagogical worksheet suitable for every level and interest Philip had to concede that on occasion the situation to being in a pit that was filling with water: despite his efforts in bailing out to keep his head above the water more replaced it.

"Swap with Spargo and work together on marking each others' work," concluded McFarlane, holding out two mark schemes. "Check what you've got against these and write some recommendations for improvements for each other." Michaels and Spargo exchanged glances as McFarlane held out the sheets of paper firmly. It had taken most of the year to instil these workaday state-school practices in his own classroom and the lads still were reluctant to use them.

McFarlane's mind flicked back to his last school, a local comprehensive whose intake consisted of those which Smeltings could not (or would not) accommodate, a situation which caused not least a moderate level of mutual intolerance. He'd chosen his bed, so to speak and as such had been out of the comprehensive system too long. The discipline alone now would probably be enough to kill him.

Putting aside his thoughts as more and more of the lads came to the end of the work Mr. McFarlane began a class discussion, the topic being an analysis of the two Shakespeare comedies that they were studying. Discussions were one practice that all of his classes had taken to relatively quickly; they had debating lessons and as such were always ready to practise within a different context and it was something of which Philip was proud, that each lad could be included and progress could clearly be seen. OfSTED would indeed be impressed.

Ten minutes later, as the debate drew to a close satisfaction sat well with Philip McFarlane as he looked with teacherly pride around his classroom. Each student was integrating with his teaching strategy and gaining a great deal. Who said that he could not adapt his style to suit their learning needs? One hundred percent succ –

It wasn't completely successful. Not all of the lads had participated in the debate, in fact the boy in question rarely participated in much. Vain comfort, McFarlane concluded; the new lad was not fitting in well round school as it was. He was aware of Darren Malloy's odd behaviour, weird mannerisms and the clear lack of general knowledge about, well, _anything_. As the rest of the lads in his class busied themselves with a written discourse each based on the earlier debate Malloy returned to staring out of the window.

Leaving the boy be, Philip recalled his initial thoughts of the new Smeltings student. At first he believed Darren Malloy to be from abroad (he had found out his old notes about strategies for including students to whom English was a second language) and it had surprised him when the lad had spoken to him in a crystal cut upper crust accent. But there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on…

…the way the teenager looked at him, sometimes…the way he would catch his eye. It was true that most of the lads here thought you were lower than them; as a fee-paying body they believed that you worked for them or for their parents. But…with Malloy, there was something more…it was as if he was not only below him, but of a different species…

…as his head of house, Philip McFarlane knew enough that he should keep an eye on him.

88888888

The bright sunny midweek day had incited Cecilia into handwashing the laundry in order to take advantage of the warmth and gentle breeze that was ideal drying weather. A basket of washing beside her with another soaking in the sink, Cecilia had located a large length of twine from the cellar, winding some out so that the outer, dusty twill and discarding it before stringing it between the handle of the outside kitchen door and a small hawthorn tree that stood twenty feet away. This gave her enough drop for the garments, towels and bedding to be off the floor but with enough surface area exposed.

Yes, of course she could leave it for Remus, she often did: it would be nothing to him to transform a heap of washing into an ironed and folded pile. But there was a base satisfaction in doing this domestic task today; what could be more heavenly than to see sheets, hand washed she hastened to add, blowing in the breeze? It reminded of her of an idyll, like the line of clothing in washing powder advertisements that enticed you into recreating the dream with a box of "Ultra Dazzle" or similar.

The clothes line was no problem, Cecilia thought as she folded her first sheet over it, spreading it out carefully. It was all very well dreaming about clean washing blowing on a line; it was how she was to secure what she had put on it when she had no pegs.

Well, perhaps she could leave the drying of the peg-essentials to Remus when he returned, and risk the larger things blowing off. That could work, she concluded as she pulled out a second sheet. He'd been back to his usual self that morning, explaining that, despite everything, Dumbledore still required his skill for the Order work he had been doing before his reprimand from the ministry. Cecilia's heart had soared when he told her this, not least because of the information. That he had told her meant…he trusted her, and wasn't pushing her away. It also meant she'd done the right thing in refusing to pursue her new theory, even if it had resulted in a disagreement with Snape.

Bending down to the laundry basket as a mischievous zephyr whipped about, fluttering the hung sheets as if they were sails on an eighteenth century tall ship. As she watched them quiver a thought crossed her mind: she still had some money, muggle money. A walk to Ambleside on a wonderful day like this and back before she knew it: a good stretch of the legs. And she could get hold of a newspaper…find out what was going on in the world…

Cecilia pulled the last sheet over her makeshift line, collecting the basket of peg-requiring laundry as she made her way back inside the cottage. Yes, a walk to Ambleside would be lovely…

…five minutes later Cecilia had made a list of other items of shopping which would also be useful, including another notebook and a visit to a chemist to buy paracetamol, shampoo, deodorant, pegs and so on. Batteries for the radio as it was on their last pair. As it was a Wednesday the local farmer's market would be on and she could look through some things which might be on sale in Bloom's…

…and some gas canisters for the burner wouldn't go amiss.

Drawing a full stop at the end of the word "canister", Cecilia idly enlarged it as she pondered her last foray into the gas canister world. She hadn't mentioned anything to Remus about her floo powder find, nor about Caelius, his murdered brother, and so consequentially she had not talked about her need for more fuel. What did he know of his older brother? Did he know at all?

…when the time was right, Cecilia thought, she would mention it...she would broach the subject soon and reveal her find…this week…otherwise her concealment of her discovery would make her what she had worried Remus would become by keeping the truth from her…

Cecilia made her way over to the sink, three-quarters full with used washing water which was now losing its heat to the surrounding air and plunged in her hands, grasping the first article that she came to and twisting out the water firmly as the thought of her impending shopping trip.

A sputter of green in the living room grate stopped Cecilia Frobisher in mid-wring. Had a photographer been at hand, sneaking in for a stolen shot of domesticity, he might well have been confused on catching his unwitting subject already frozen with the only betrayal that time was still in progress being the residual droplets of water yielding to gravity. What, or who, was attempting to contact her via floo?

She didn't have to wait long. As Cecilia stared, watching the sporadic sparks spray from the centre and to her amazement the head of someone she least expected appeared ghoulish green in the grate.

"Tonks!" she exclaimed, dropping the well-wrung washing back into the sink as she rushed into the living room, the water dripping down her still-held-up arms. "What are you doing here?"

There was a pause. As Cecilia waited for the witch to fill it, a disconcerting thought filled her mind: she doesn't want me…

…but her gloomy thoughts were repelled when Tonks grinned her characteristic grin.

"Wotcher! How are you, Cec?" Tonks began her hair, even in the fiery floolight managing to change hue.

"Fine, absolutely fine," she replied truthfully as the image of her best friend fleeted over her cerebellum. "Yourself?"

"What are you up to?" asked the witch, "are you working? If you are, I could come over and help."

"Actually," said Cecilia, feeling the washing water drizzle down her arms and pool in her armpits, "I was just about to go to town – I need some more fuel before I can do any more of that."

"Great!" exclaimed Tonks, "fancy some company? I'll be over in two shakes!"

They floo'd to the waterfall about half a mile back from the Salutation Hotel which lay at the top of the main street of Ambleside. Tonks had somehow ascertained a safe appearance place using the portable floo network, however it was close: a trickle of tourists ran along the main path that allowed the full view of the trickle of water falling over the rocky outcrop high above them and they had to dodge round the back of the hydropotential attraction before incorporating themselves into the throng.

The weather, though changeable in this part of England, was just as glorious as ten miles away and the pair of women made their way on foot towards the small lakeside town. As they walked they made polite conversation, the sort that ancient adversaries made when a feud had long since been settled. In a way, they _had_ been adversaries, inadvertent rivals for the affection of a man. Now, that had been settled and both were happy.

"Remus said he'd invited you and Nick," Cecilia began conversationally as they made their way down towards the town. "It was lovely seeing you last time."

"He did," Tonks agreed, her hair glinting golden in the sunlight. "We'd be delighted to come, but we can't make it just yet – Cecilia, are you okay?" Tonks's voice changed from easy conversation to concerned alarm as Mrs Frobisher came to an abrupt halt, holding her stomach.

Waiting for the nausea to pass Cecilia nodded as best as she could but Tonks was having none of it and she took her arm with one hand, holding her up.

"I'm all right Tonks, really," Cecilia managed, defending her original stance against the younger woman's doubtful look. "It's been happening on and off for the last week or so and I know what it is."

"What is it?" echoed Tonks, still looking at her with concern.

"Magic," Cecilia revealed, beginning her walk again. "Because I've been out of a magical environment for so long. It's like, when I was at Hogwarts I built up a tolerance but now because I'm out of it, I'm affected by small amounts."

"Wow," said Tonks, who continued to walk too. "Yeah. I mean, I've heard about something similar. Dad suffers from it, sometimes. He still can't floo without getting really ill. It's not worth it, he says."

"But your dad's a wizard though, isn't he?" Tonks nodded, kicking a small pebble out of her path.

"Muggle born. Came to it late. Didn't get his letter till he was fifteen. I mean, imagine that – finding out that you're able to do something as fantastic as magic so late. He attended Hogwarts too, you know. He'd left muggle school at that age, and then got his letter. Went, too. Joined the fifth years and was given remedial lessons. Did his OWLs in his NEWT years, but didn't get very far."

"Does that happen often?" asked Cecilia as the back of the Ambleside Salutation hoved into view. "Wizards getting letters so late in life?" Tonks shook her magenta head.

"Dad's the only one I know of. I think he wouldn't have so many muggle tendencies if he'd got his letter earli – _sorry_, Cec," she added when Cecilia stopped abruptly.

"Sorry?" repeated Cecilia blankly, staring into a concerned face. "No, I was just thinking…no." She shook her head, resisting the strong urge to pry further. "Why are you sorry?"

"Just…well, I implied that muggle tendencies were inferior…" It was Tonks's turn to look confused when Cecilia began to laugh.

"Tracy Tonks, I would never have assumed you'd meant that." Cecilia grinned as Tonks did the same. "Especially now you're getting friendly with Nick. How's he doing?"

"Really well," replied Tonks, looking right at the zebra crossing and hoping that the blush on her cheeks had subsided by the time she had to check the traffic to the left. "He's getting a lot of work done at the…where is it? Unclear plant?"

"Nuclear plant," corrected Cecilia, chuckling. "Although a great deal of it is indeed unclear. I think – "

" – he's one of your oldest friends, Cecilia – " declared Tonks, pausing to put an arm in front of Cecilia as Mrs Frobisher almost made the last road crossing of her life. A Ford Mondeo blared out its horn as Cecilia jumped in fright.

"Thanks." She turned to Tonks and hugged her. In surprise, the younger woman hugged her back. Later, Cecilia would realise why Nymphadora Tonks had hung on momentarily longer than she needed.

"How's the work going?" asked Tonks, once they had safely crossed the road. They were now heading down the high street of the town, every other shop dedicated to mountaineering, climbing, Kendal Mint Cake or selling souvenirs. Cecilia paused in her retrieval of her shopping list and, noting the first shop she needed (for her vital gas canisters).

"I'm doing what I can, but I can't say it's easy." She looked at Tonks, whose hair seemed to be flickering between an unusual gold shade and magenta, giving the effect of her whole head being aglow. She looked from the younger woman's hair to her face. "All that I'm doing I'm doing by hand. Severus is in charge of the rest." Not that he'd let her just get on with it, she thought uncharitably.

"And he's letting you?" asked Tonks. Immediately her expression told Cecilia that she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"All I mean is, he's not putting pressure on you?"

"He understands that I need to be with Remus," Cecilia said firmly. Tonks snorted.

"If you say so!"

"You're saying he doesn't?"

"He must," conceded Tonks softly. "I don't know, I just get the feeling he wants you back at Hogwarts." Cecilia looked at her quickly before surrendering her cover and she nodded in agreement.

"He told me you'd asked him to contact Nick."

"I told him I wasn't the only person who knew science," Cecilia clarified, as she recalled the previous day's row. "I didn't realise he actually would…I told him if he wanted to know about science he could ask anyone, for example, Nick." She stopped, and exhaled. "Look, I don't want to go back to Hogwarts, or anywhere with Severus Snape: my life is with Remus now," she continued and, as she did so, Tonks's expression changed, ever so slightly, as if a mental barrier had been removed.

"I'm just…"

"…you needn't be…"

"…I…"

"…me too," said Cecilia. "We're both defensive about the people we care about in our lives. We've got to lean to trust each other with them."

"Exactly," said Tonks, touching her on the arm. "You need to go in here?" Cecilia nodded.

"Otherwise I wouldn't be able to continue at all," she replied, pushing open the glass door. "Now, what other news is there that I need to know about?"

Following her acquisition of gas canisters, a newspaper and double-A batteries from the store-come-junk shop that Cecilia had bought her radio from two months ago, she was more the wiser regarding a couple of her ex-students. By the time they had stepped onto the main street of Ambleside she knew that her mother, sister and god-daughter were safe and well and as they passed the rough cast buildings that housed clothes, mountaineering equipment, postcards and other tourist ephemera Mrs Cecilia Frobisher was fully aware that the Order meeting yesterday had been a huge success. It was just a pity that, since she had given in her resignation, she couldn't ask of Tonks the specifics. Just as well, Cecilia told herself, otherwise that'd be one more step towards temptation.

A small branch of HMV was Cecilia's next port of call and she spent a good ten minutes perusing the small stock of cassette albums that she could buy to play in her technologically ancient radio. It had fascinated Tonks who, though had little interest in music was attracted to the shape and form of the tapes and compact discs. Prising the witch from the latest hits stand where her investigation was drawing interest from the shop's manager they went next door to a chemist where both women perused the perfumes, body sprays, deodorants, moisturisers and other goods of a girly nature for what seemed like five minutes but was in fact almost an hour.

"I've never been shopping in a muggle town before," Tonks confided in Cecilia as she took a small selection of items (strictly those on her shopping list) to the woman on the till. "I love it here," she continued as the woman bagged her purchases. "It's like Diagonalley, only…only…" Tonks broke off as they left the chemist and walked back onto the street.

"What is it?" asked Cecilia as the young woman seemed to sag at the shoulder.

"I've never tried fish and chips."

Cecilia took Tonks the long way round to "The Plaice to Be", passing the house over the stream. She explained it had been built like that in order to avoid the land tax and Tonks had laughed, commenting on the ingenuity. They sat on a bench near the shore of Windermere, each holding a bag of warm lunch and a wooden fork, eating them as the glorious day's sunlight reflected off the lake's sheer surface.

"Why didn't you ask me about talking to Nick? Why did you ask Snape to do it?" Tonks's question came out of the blue and Cecilia looked at her sharply.

"I would have...Snape – " Cecilia swallowed as she looked into Tonks's sombre face. "We had an argument, which isn't unusual for us, but I had to make it clear to him that I wasn't coming back but we'd need access to science, one way or another. He needed to know about genetics; that's Nick's field. Our paths have diverged, there's more to it than just this. We need to get it right and fast – "

Realising that she was becoming defensive Cecilia broke off and waited for Tonks to respond. Eventually the witch nodded slowly. In a few moments' time Cecilia would be able to guess the reason for her apparent mistrust, the same mistrust that the witch had expressed when Lupin had given her "Mysterious Mythology".

"You know that Remus is going to need your commitment now things are looking to get tough," Tonks continued, reiterating Cecilia's point. The muggle who was sitting next to her nodded docilely, ignoring the potential interpretation of the witch's comment as being patronising. And then both women, continuing to sit next to one another with the gleaming body of water before them felt the metaphorical barrier evaporate and a friendship was, if not soundly restored, in the process of repair.

Their conversation began a few minutes' later and stopped at various indicator-points on the circuit of discussion, Sirius Black being one of them. They laughed at Tonks's cousin's masculine naivety, his idiocy at Christmas and Cecilia's own that Sirius could have been more than a friend and that she could have been so taken in (though she was careful not to discuss the events directly prior to the "misborn" incident). She told Tonks that it was necessary for him to be in her life now for Remus's sake, that she was happy that he could give her intended the support he needed and Tonks commented that it was strange how they'd both found happiness in each others' worlds. Cecilia felt her heart gladden; there the opportunity lay, she knew, where they could support one another.

Then the conversation turned to weddings and marriage, and Cecilia asked Tonks how it was wizards married. She gave the same answer that Remus had done, all those months ago when she had first mentioned it and she felt herself reaching for her neck where her locket hung, made from their hair entwined and transformed.

"I just don't know what the situation is," Cecilia continued as she took the empty wrapping paper from Tonks and combined it with her own as the younger woman leaned forward to listen. "I think that he's very uneasy about what's going on at the ministry, that's why he's not arranged anything."

"Mm," murmured Tonks as Cecilia got to her feet and binned the rubbish.

A few moments later and they had returned to the junk shop where Cecilia rummaged through the metal scraps in search of a halfway decent piece of zinc that she needed for the next stage of no. 30 as well as a used solution of photographic developer, the residue of which, the chemist in her knew, would contain sufficient quantities of silver nitrate.

Their journey back towards the waterfall was relatively uneventful, with the exception of the sensation of queasiness rising in Cecilia's stomach. Putting it out of her mind, she listened as Tonks spoke about the reforming of the Order and their meeting a few nights ago as they walked amongst tourists again who were also in search of the waterfall, though presumably not for the same reason as they were.

"…there were plenty of cheers when Dumbledore read out your letter," Tonks continued, swinging the canvas bag containing Cecilia's gas cylinders onto her shoulder, almost dropping them out of the top. Deftly catching them in their transit between the bag and ground Cecilia put them back in and pulled the straps onto the young woman's shoulder.

"At last they're rid of me," concluded Cecilia, smiling as Tonks frowned.

"No. That's not what they – "

"Do you mean to say that no-one said anything about my leaving being a betrayal to the Order?" Tonks looked at her, blankly.

"Not in my hearing – "

" – not even Snape?" Tonks shook her head. At Cecilia's expression of disbelief she continued.

"No, he didn't," she repeated, shaking her head. "He actually said that it was best for you, and the potion."

"Did he really…" Cecilia said the words softly, more in commentary to her own memory than in reply. But Tonks nodded in agreement.

"He also said that because of the work we're doing. Kingsley is concerned about the situation in the ministry…"

The look of horror on Tonks's face as she broke off was enough to tell Cecilia that the witch had given away something. She stopped and Tonks stopped too, looking at her open-mouthed.

"And you mean, of course, the situation with Remus," murmured Cecilia generously as Tonks nodded in relief. "Look, I've resigned…I'm not involved with the Order. It was a mistake to join it in the first place and have a say, and quite a relief to leave it all behind me. I don't need to know he details and there's no way that I'll be tempted by curiosity." She smiled at Tonks who looked as if she was about to burst into tears. "It's time I took a leaf out of your book," she added.

To her surprise the young witch was hugging her, holding her arms with her hands and pulling her closer. A swell of relief passed through Cecilia as she realised how big a relief it was to admit it. But…she and Nick had got married…?

"I know you weren't horrible, it seemed horrible at the time, but deep down I knew…" Cecilia took a step back and this time, she looked confused as Tonks's conversation became panicky and disjointed, her face beginning to redden and her hair a muddy white as if every colour of her hair was showing itself simultaneously.

"There's been a change in the law…it's meant that he would have to be befuddled and unless we were married, he would forget me…I love him, Cecilia…mum nearly killed me because of the rush…"

"…it's for keeps," she finished as Cecilia reached out her arm as Tonks implored her not to tell anyone. "Can we keep this just between us? For now?" Cecilia nodded as she curled her arm into that of her friend.

"Well actually," conceded Tonks as they walked on, "could you tell Remus? I want him to know, and it would be best coming from you." Cecilia felt herself nodding again and this time took her hand. They began to walk again up the hill to the waterfall and for a moment they looked like two school children, best of friends.

"I…I'll always love him," Tonks continued wistfully as they neared the top of the waterfall. "I don't think I couldn't, but it's not love in a romantic sense. He's been part of my life for such a long time and there's – " she paused, looking at the freshwater stream below the bridge before back to Cecilia. "I love Nick. I've made my choice and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him…and we're going to be happy…"

That was the part of the conversation that remained with Cecilia as they made their way at speed towards the safe point from which Tonks could floo (she was late, she explained to Cecilia, and if she didn't get her back soon she wouldn't have time to get back to St Bees before she had to be at the ministry).

Ten minutes later they had got to the spot where they had floo'd in and Tonks apologised to Cecilia for not being able to stop for some tea as she discreetly pulled out her wand. Cecilia stepped towards the greenish glow and said that was quite all right and she and her husband and would have to come back to the cottage for some Remus-cooked dinner.

And then, as the familiar floo-induced lurch of her stomach bolted through her Cecilia felt that the past had been put behind them, replacing it with a happy, if unexpected future.

88888888

Closing the door to his father's study, on the second floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius hurried across the carpets that festooned the floorboards and knelt in front of the hearth. Holding a handful of floo dust, he threw his hand forward. Opening his palm, he looked at it as the dim firelight reflected off its facets and second thoughts fought off his first thoughts.

His first thoughts had compelled him to hastily extract himself from the conversation that was continuing below, with Order members continually replacing one another as they were wont to do in times of urgency when they were required to share information quickly, to race upstairs and hide himself away to pursue his hobby. His first thoughts had brought him to his knees before the fireplace that was the main focal point of the study after grabbing a handful of green sand-like powder from the basket on the left. His first thoughts had raced ahead, speculating on the likely scene in which his quarry would be playing. Those were his first thoughts, which had stood firm for a good year and had not yet failed him.

Sirius had begun to duck in and out of random fireplaces when he was a young wizard (with interesting results and more than a few near-misses) and it was a habit which he had resumed, though tentatively at first, when he had returned to his family home. When he was bored…when he was feeling low…for some chance entertainment…one quick handful and he could summon scenes of other people…of their lives…it did no harm…

…but then there was Cecilia Frobisher…

The first time he had spied on her using the floo network had been after his first drunken attempt on her life when she had returned to Hogwarts: he had been fascinated with her. From her restless pacing, dressed in worn-all-day clothing and her hair tangled and knotted as she wrestled with a mental puzzle…her waking and thanking an absent house elf for clean towels and a filled bath and a tantalising appearance minutes later…her tears of frustration when she had known she was right in the face of an immovable Snape…her glorious form in her Emaness dress…she was only a muggle…but she fascinated him nonetheless…

No.

His second thoughts were holding out an impressive defensive block as his first thoughts had prompted him to almost drop the floo powder and continue with his espionage, preventing his first thoughts from urging Sirius past the point of no return.

No. It was wrong, plain and simple: he knew he shouldn't be doing it. The woman had been a paradigm of integrity with regard to Harry's potion against profound provocation…she needed to be protected…one little look wouldn't hurt…

No!

Closing his hand around the floo powder Sirius leaned back on his knees. He could hardly fool himself that he was looking out for her wellbeing by covert means – that type of thinking would drive him crazy.

Leaning forward again Sirius opened his hand, uttering his destination and a few moments later the stone of the fireplace transformed into that of a study, one which he recognised (he and James had visited it many, many times) and he took in the chairs and table legs. Almost as soon as his eyes got used to the scene the door opened and the McGonagall's feet and robe hem swept into view.

Whispering hastily the scene changed to that of the Gryffindor common room, sunlight beaming through the Three Knights stained glass and illuminating the absence of students. Of course Harry wouldn't be there…he would be in lessons or studying or, if he was anything like his father, avoiding work and bunking off with Ron.

Sighing, Sirius reached for some more floo powder and uttered the words and the secret password which Dumbledore had himself set to access this part of the network that would bring him into the fireplace in the living room of Lupin's cottage and he wondered what task or activity Mrs Frobisher would be undertaking in her muggle, non-magical manner.

And now she sat, he could see, in the kitchen at the table poring over books and parchments lost in abstract thoughts no doubt. Sirius felt the floo flames flicker around him as he watched her rest her face on her hand as she glanced between page and what it was she was writing. Like so many times before, Sirius mused grimly, so many times when she was there alone, or working, clearly working, where he wanted to stop her, talk to her…find out what she was thinking, or why she'd decided to do what she did at a particular moment…

…he knew how to annoy her, and get her defensive but she could not be held down for long. He could equal her by challenging her at every step, it took a good deal of effort to match her. But if she wasn't the enemy any more why did he still feel the need to win? Why did she bother him so?

He shook the thought from his mind as if it were a recalcitrant insect, as he watched her cross the kitchen through the living room-kitchen doorway and then cross back. Something was on her mind; he had seen her pace back and forth like that in her room and in Hogwarts' muggle studies classroom several times before…Sirius knew she was wrestling with something vital to her…whether to her work or whether to something else in her life. No witch would behave the way she did and no muggle he had ever met either…

…what if she were a witch…?

Forcing out the thought, Sirius watched Cecilia re-cross the kitchen and sit back down, fumbling through a large, wide-spined book before looking at her notes again.

Why could his mind not let of her? Why had he told her his silly, stupid ideas? With any luck she would have forgotten all about it in her quest of perfection for the potion that his godson was to take...

But then again, how likely was that with her? Sirius watched Cecilia pull her hands through her hair in frustration as she scribbled through something on the sheet of paper next to her. She remembered everything including, more annoyingly, things that he said and did; especially his mistakes…

Still, he shouldn't be doing this. But what harm was there in watching her, making sure she was safe for Moony? You can't keep a good dog down…

A knock at the door caused Sirius to jump and he pulled his face from the grate. It was Arthur Weasley, who smiled as Sirius hauled himself to his feet, attempting to look impassive as the wizard approached him.

"Sturgis has just left," he began, handing Sirius sheaf of parchments, "and then Benjamin left us with some new Azkaban reports before shooting off too. I thought you'd like to see them before Minerva had them." Sirius nodded, glancing into the fireplace. Mr. Weasley watched him turn his head, noting the trail of floo powder on the Wilton carpet before taking a step towards him.

"If you don't mind me saying so Sirius, you seem to be stuck up here an awful lot." Arthur touched Sirius on the shoulder and the wizard turned. "I can understand how frustrating it must be that Harry is at Hogwarts, especially with his involvement."

"There's not much else I can be doing I was declared free, but the ministry still want me for questioning and I know their brand of questioning." Mr Weasley watched Sirius visibly sag at the shoulders and he pitied him.

"Well," said Arthur, patting him again on the shoulder, "here's a task, then. We rescued the reports: all of them. They need filing and shelving, and relevant information collecting." Sirius felt the weight of responsibility press down on him as he relieved Arthur Weasley of the papers.

"Excellent, that'll keep me busy." He smiled briefly at Arthur who waved his wand and shelved Sirius's burden onto the empty dusty shelves behind him that had previously housed his family's books before making his way to the door and Sirius nodded to the wizard as he read the title of the first Order report as he put the thought of what was denied him at the back of his mind.

"Oh, by the way," added Arthur Weasley as Sirius began the gargantuan task of sorting the reports, "a letter arrived downstairs in the hallway hearth. Was yours occupied?" Sirius jerked his head towards the study's door as Arthur made his way back over to Sirius, letter in hand.

"I must have left it switched on," said Sirius vaguely as he took it, all hope of returning to observing Cecilia Frobisher evaporating around him. "Thanks Arthur."

"You're welcome. By the way, Molly says it's nearly time for tea."

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In a cold, dank cellar below a Georgian terraced house a few hundred miles from the most unsecret of secret Orders a mere flicker of life revealed its grotesque form in the darkness. Even though it was bright sunshine outside down here the even the solar energy feared to enter. The voice emanating from its body reeked of age and frailty but the words evoked dormant power

The figure that had the fortune (or possibly the misfortune) to stand before the contemptible body stood silently; that had been the mode of their arrival but the monstrosity that had once been the most powerful wizard in the world knew that the figure was there.

"Of my enemies, what have you to report?" Voldermort's voice rasped out the words that were quickly absorbed by the dense atmosphere.

"My Lord," replied the figure lightly, "I was under the impression that the movements of those particular – _people _– were of little consequence to you." Their words provoked sharp intake of breath to the figure's right and, at once, the obvious dawned. Wormtail. Of course he would be there, at his Lord's beck and call.

"Anti-muggle laws have been tightened, my Lord," continued the figure, divulging the required information. "The ministry believe, as you intended, that muggles are deemed to be a security risk and as such are barred from wizard premises." The figure remained stock still as the voice glided slowly to their left.

"Good…good! They are closing in on themselves…and…by the time the incompetent law enforcers have sorted it out I will have regained my strength. You are to be congratulated." The rasping was growing stronger with the satisfaction that Voldermort's voice betrayed and the figure breathed lightly.

"And the muggle? The one which we have engaged to carry out our bidding? He has been sufficiently motivated by money, I trust?"

The figure's mental field scrolled back to the man's face in the car at Brighton. The deed was foul, no question. Yet the search for the ideal muggle for the job could not have been simpler.

"Indeed, my Lord. He would be more than willing to do away with his entire family, I am certain, were there enough used muggle banknotes in exchanged for it."

"Good…"

"But my Lord," countered the figure, turning swiftly in the direction of the rasping – which the figure was almost sure had turned to a soft hissing – voice, "surely muggles are our enemies. Many of your followers are indeed shocked at your move."

There was a silence. Nothing, except for a rustle behind the figure that, if they had been asked to swear to, they would have described as a slither.

"This muggle whom you have engaged, he is nothing to us but a mercenary. He is a mere stepping stone upon whose deeds I will thrive. Not only will I regain my full strength and defeat Harry Potter but I will gain full understanding of the Universal Link before destroying the muggle Cecilia Frobisher."

"And how will you do that, my Lord?" Another moment of silence filled the dankness and the figure had to use all of their strength not to recoil at the sudden stench.

"My enemy's enemy is my friend…"

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Reports, more reports. Sirius had catalogued by date more than a score of them in the last two hours. Evening was on the rise; the dimming light shimmered off the rim of the dish in which Molly Weasley had brought up a hearty bowl of summer vegetable soup when he had not gone down himself to partake in any and she had tutted at her husband's thoughtlessness in bringing the reports to him, congratulating Sirius in equal measure in taking up the burden.

But now, even her soothing words had bolstered his ego so much and now, as the evening drew in his urge to revisit the fireplace of his friend's cottage had become now irresistible. Leaving the other half of reports on the table near the window Sirius made his way back over to the fireplace, watching the cinders glowing in temptation.

And then before he knew it, his hand reached towards the floo powder pot and he was kneeling in the hearth. He was about to stick his head into the hearth when a voice, crackly and weak, made him stop.

"Yes, Great Grandfather Phineas?" Sirius got back to his feet and made his way, floo-powder still in his fist, over to the portrait of his ancestor. Phineas Nigellus looked down at his descendant as he addressed him, using the same sing-song voice that he remembered his great grandson using when he was a child.

"I _said_, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"And why not?" Between Sirius's fingers the green sand-like powder began to fall and he opened his other palm and tipped some of the escaping grains into it. "Remus Lupin is my friend, my only friend now."

"You take a deal of interest in that muggle, far more, I believe, than you can excuse on your friend's behalf. What is your real reason?" He stopped in his pigmented movement as Sirius allowed the floo powder to fall through his fingers and onto his prize Persian carpet.

"I already lost a friend to a redhead twenty years ago, I'm just being cautious for him." Sirius turned quickly and made his way across to the table on which the Order reports lay and picked up the letter that had arrived for him that afternoon.

"She _is_ interesting," conceded Sirius, unfolding the letter. "Besides, she has sought my help, and who would I be to refuse?"

"To aid a muggle? Indeed!" Phineas Nigellus sniffed, a great feat for a long-painted portrait, and a flake or two of pigment floated off down towards the floor.

"I believe you assisted her, did you not?" Sirius goaded, reading through the list of questions with which Cecilia Frobisher had asked for his help.

"And I aided you in her downfall, something you never quite managed to pull off," replied Phineas stiffly. "If I were still alive I would be dead before a muggle entered _my_ house!" But Sirius was not listening to his antecedent. Instead, he was reading through the letter again, before reading out the list of questions to Phineas.

"…all these…sound barmy to me," commented Sirius to Phineas. "She seems to think that wizards have access to different amounts of magic." He shook his head as he looked back at the portrait of Nigellus, watching the pursed lips of his great grandfather break into a smirk.

"Of course there is, stupid boy." Evening sunlight bounced off the whites of Phineas's eyes as his know-it-all great grandson stared back at him in confusion. "Of course there are different levels. It all depends on the blood, like I've always told you."

"The blood…!" Sirius rolled his eyes at his family's stock answer for everything, but this time Phineas Nigellus didn't bite back. Instead the portrait waited for Sirius to either ask him or remain silent enough for him to explain.

"Of course in the blood. Does anything the muggle seek have even the remotest connection to pure blood wizards? Of course not. Does she speak of a change in magical ability on behalf of people whose parents are pureblood? No! This is what you should report back to her, my lad, that none of these questions are relevant to pure blood wizards! Curor in potentia!"

He was about to continue when he realised Sirius wasn't listening any more. Instead he was walking away from his portrait and was making his way back over to the study's table.

"We need her..." He walked back to Phineas and looked up at him before gesturing towards the fireplace. "Lupin believes she loves him and she's holed in at his cottage. But for all we know she could disappear back to her own world and – "

" – and you wouldn't be able to control her any more," finished Phineas stiffly. "Here we are again: the young thinking they know better than the elderly. You are on a path to destruction if you try to control muggles, young Sirius. Co-operation, that seems to be the key.

Sirius stopped. For a moment he thought he had heard the magical portrait of his great grandfather tell him that persecuting muggles wasn't the way forward and that "cruor in potentia" had reverted back to its original meaning.

"How goes the revolution, great grandson?"

"Do you mean yours or mine?"

"Same thing," said Phineas evenly.

"Very poor, from what I am given to understand." Sirius exhaled. "Voldermort has gone into hiding; he's badly injured and we are trying to locate him in order to defeat him."

"Hm, I see. Well from the Blacks long past, good luck with that one." His portrait faded. Sirius waited a moment in case Phineas came back before turning and looking at the fireplace again. Then, before he knew it he was standing in front of the fireplace again.

So checking in his friend's soon-to-be-wife for her own safety was trying to control her, was it? Hm…

Reaching for the floo pot again he cast some of the greenish dust into it, watching it flare and knelt before it…

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"It was an oversight, a large oversight on my part for which everyone will eventually pay the price." Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore pushed up his half-moon spectacles as he rose from his seat in his own office and addressed his own ex-double agent. The wizard in question, though free from the will of Lord Voldermort, had now crippled their cause somewhat. That was not the oversight however, and Dumbledore was quick to point this out to Snape.

"How likely is it that he will attempt to harness muggle power for his own Severus, as you described to me?" He made his way across to the potions master whose usually granite-like appearance had flickered momentarily in his presumption. It returned in a heartbeat, and he shifted infinitesimally taller in his stature as he looked back at Dumbledore silently.

"He has spoken of it, Headmaster," he conceded eventually, "though more during his darkest times. His Call has been more frequent of late and I believe he has spurred many of his followers into action, though none have yet been detected."

"Hm." Dumbledore began to pace towards the pictures of his predecessors, occasionally looking up at their faces in turn, before looking back at Snape.

"As to whether he would actually employ a muggle in the same way that you did, I hardly think that's likely. However improbable, it is not impossible."

"That is what I am most worried about." Dumbledore continued to pace across his office glancing across to Snape. He stopped.

"I believe that very soon our ability to converse securely within the walls of this school will be greatly restricted. This night Tabitha Penwright is seeing off Dolores Umbridge, but she will return, as will many requirements from the ministry. I overlooked this possibility the last time and now, with no trace of his whereabouts I must admit, I have to consider the improbable." He saw Snape sag at the shoulders and his left arm flinch involuntarily. The wizard had offered on more than half a dozen occasions to attempt to restore the cruel and tortuous connection between himself and Voldermort – on each occasion Dumbledore refused his offer, claiming the miraculous cure could be used as an incentive to any Death Eater who wished to free themselves from the Dark Lord's grip.

"We are running out of time. There is no need to suppose that Voldermort knows how to restore his soul fully when the time is right, but we must suppose it. There is no need to suppose that he knows how to achieve this, but again, we must suppose such a situation. My premise is this:

"He is planning to cause havoc with his terrorism in the muggle world, Severus, because he can…he needs the links to the wizard world where he can get it and there were still enough Death Eaters. He is hidden and obscured from view..." Dumbledore trailed off as he concluded his circuit back round to his desk and sat on the chair behind it and sank into it. Beside him, Fawkes squawked noisily.

"And Mrs Frobisher? Cecilia's still safe where she is? She is immovable in herself, that is for certain."

"The trail I have thrown the ministry of the misleading befuddled memories will not lead her to harm. She is quite safe as long as she remains in Lupin's cottage and under no circumstances communicates with anyone. By happy chance Lupin's own mode of magical transport being strictly limited has made for an entirely safe environment for Mrs Frobisher as the ministry do not check Shacklebolt. Your belief that previous correspondence allowed the ministry to gain a rough location for her was, indeed true. However whence this correspondence came I suppose we'll never know."

"We must assume then that the Dark Lord may indeed have access to anything. As we have no direct link to his whereabouts or any hint of his plans – "

"I recall our conversation just at the end of the battle. Voldermort was powerless but some of his followers were powerful still. We will do what we must. And if the news I have come across just now is true – " Dumbledore put down a Slytherin robe, " – come in, Harry."

Snape turned jerkily towards the door, waiting at least a minute before the door was pushed open slowly by Harry Potter, who looked past him deliberately and directly at Dumbledore. He stood aside as the teenager strode past him and looked at the headmaster, before watching him turn and throw him a disdainful look. Snape knew what it was about, and he could barely contain his glee at the boy's unhappiness. A smile played about his lips momentarily before Harry looked back at Dumbledore in desperation.

"Yes, Harry. How may I be of assistance to you?" Dumbledore rose to his feet and instantaneously appeared at the other side of it. "Are you settling back in to school?" Harry nodded, looking back at Snape with sheer hatred in his eye.

"Mrs Frobisher is not to be our muggle studies teacher, Professor. And Professor Snape tells me that I must work with the new one? She's from the ministry…"

"Yes indeed, Harry. She is from the Department of Mysteries."

"And I must work with her? Why is she here?" Before Dumbledore could answer Snape smirked briefly again before interceding.

"There is nothing more dearly we require than for Mrs Frobisher to be amongst us all again however…this is not to be. She is in hiding, as I explained to you not half an hour ago, because of correspondence irresponsibly sent. The ministry have a trace on her and any owls sent are tracked. It is her misfortune and ours that they have found her." Harry looked at Snape earnestly.

"Where is she?"

"I don't think that is any of your concern, Potter."

"It is, if the potion is to do with me; if it's for me – "

"So you believe the secret location of Mrs Frobisher should be made known to you, despite the precariousness of her, and your, situation…you think I am irresponsible enough to just tell you?"

" – my safety – "

" – has always been our utmost concern, do our actions of last term tell you nothing? I am refining the potion based on her science in order for you to face the Dark Lord again. If you wish to waste your time with the trivialities of the subject on top of your OWL examinations, then be my guest."

"She taught _me_ science," continued Harry unabashed. "It was interesting – "

" – how happy I am for you – "

"I understood it…I've been continuing it…she's been teaching me."

"_Mrs Frobisher_ has been teaching you _science_?" Even Dumbledore was looking at him in astonishment.

"Hermione," Harry conceded. "_She's_ the one who's continued to learn it from – " Harry stopped, but too late: he realised he had given away his friend.

"Mrs Frobisher? Aha! And to think, headmaster, that we have been taking every precaution available." Harry said nothing. Nor did Snape. The potions master remained stock still and emotionless, save only to stare back at the young wizard with an expression of pure malevolence.

"Then it would appear your friend has put her, and indeed yourself, in danger for, as of the start of this new term I am no in longer in contact with Mrs Frobisher for the reason I have just outlined to you. Should the potion not go entirely as expected then be sure to spare a thought for your thoughtless friend. Now," Snape turned and looked in the direction of Dumbledore's office door, "you should contact with Professor Penwright; the ministry require you to give account of your work with Mrs Frobisher in terms of the science so perhaps your love of the muggle art will come in handy after all."

With a snort, Snape finished his tirade and he watched as Harry turned for a last ditch reprieve from Dumbledore. As the teenager made to go, Snape turned to watch him.

"Potter." Harry turned and stared back at Snape.

"What?"

"Do yourself a favour. Try to mislead Professor Penwright as much as possible. Goodbye."

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"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The chant echoed into the evening air around the local park as the day borders at Smeltings and the local comprehensive Stonewall High squared up to one another. It was the former school's first day back (and the latter's sixth) and thus their first opportunity in three weeks to have a right good barney.

Dudley Dursley, bereft of the constricting and humiliating uniform that he was compelled to wear at Smeltings donned combat trousers and a heavy metal t-shirt stretched awkwardly across his large torso, began squaring up to a short stocky boy who looked like a human bulldog in a tracksuit, Adidas trainers and a hoodie which he had down in order to gain full view of his shaven head

Around them upper class boys from Smeltings and on the Stonewall side working-class girls stood together in ragged groups looking on in a "not looking on" way, as if trying not to observe and observe as closely as possible at the same time.

The inner circle around the lads roared with the names of the contenders, the latest in a forty-odd year opposition that had began when Smeltings was rebuilt, the two of them now, sweating and trying to look 'ard being the latest in a long line of representatives.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The chant reverberated again around the local park as both boys held up their arms, fists raised, one a school's boxing champion and the other a school's prime reprobate.

Who would make the first swing? As the onlookers looked on, and the inner circle closed in further pushing them in closer proximity than before, their minds were silently made up as the opponents eyed each other with pure hatred.

"I'm going to get 'im," snarled the lad from Stonewall, wrinkling his nose and exposing a line of nicotine-stained teeth. "Our Mark 'asn't been able to walk straight since you "sorted 'im out, Dursley," he growled, making a mock swing in Dudley Dursley's direction and laughing contemptuously as the larger boy swerved out of the pre-empted trajectory of his fist. "I don't like your sort, iron-boy; you don't play by the r – "

But the lad didn't have a chance to finish as he was hurled to the floor, his rotund frame engulfed by Dudley's huge stature. In his fall to the ground though, the Stonewall hard-nut had managed to floor Dudley. Around them the inner circle, eyes fixed on each other's opponent in undisguised delight at the sport before them, cheered madly, one half screaming for "Azzer" and the other for "Duds".

A group of onlookers, girl clones for want of a better description, screamedin disgust as the fighting boys rolled past the group and out, the fight taking place feet from them, and they moved back in disgust, but not too far back that they couldn't see exactly what was going on so they could recount it in all its glory to other girl clones later that evening.

And then one of the girls, brushing her bleached blonde hair behind her ears, noticed another figure homing into view and, ignoring the now increasing landing of punches, kicks and thumps that was the fight before them. She nudged another clone, who zipped up her tracksuit jacket and elbowed a third. Beside them, a Stonewall lad looked in the direction that they were looking and a few moments later more were looking at the emerging stranger than at the fight that was still going. Then one of the boys spoke.

"Oh look, it's another iron-boy!" The Stonewall school faction roared in laughter, pointing at the uniform as the teenager approached. In return Darren Malloy shot them a well-practiced look of pure venom which silenced them immediately, and uncertain whispers began to circulate as Duds broke off from the fighting and looked at Malloy and Azzer ceased too, appraised him with contempt.

By now, even the Smeltings side began to whisper: what was _he_ doing here…Malloy, who spoke to no-one, who sat alone and apart…? The unanswered questions turned into answers in a second as Malloy raised his hand into a flat palm. Dudley Dursley hauled himself up onto his feet, staring doubtfully at the newcomer. Then, in a fraction of a second, Malloy had turned to Azzer.

The whole crowd in the park was silent and still. Ask any of them later, and each of them would be able to tell you that Malloy then spoke to Azzer. Ask any of them and they would have told you that his voice was cold and calm, as if he was addressing a child. Ask any one of the spectators what Darren Malloy actually said to Azzer and they would all have been at a loss.

And within moments, Azzer, the hardest boy at Stonewall was flat on his back, laid out cold within seconds as Malloy took a step back. Though so different a streak of similarity bonded two of Smelting's two most interesting characters and the start of an unusual association began.

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A/N: Do you like? Please review!


	11. Choices

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!

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The man's day had been a tough one. Lost in the melee of financial transactions and deals he had done it was not surprising that this man had a lot on his mind. The First Municipal Bank had called to check on a deal with offshore trust funds and he had had an excruciating two hours in tight negotiation with a Scottish bank entangled with a pension scheme in the Isle of Man. It was another deal however, that was playing on his mind. That deal, he recalled, had been set into play almost a week ago and had culminated in a set of instructions that had burned in his hand as he sat in his car on the Brighton seafront.

The words, as clear as day, were burned into his brain as a brand on livestock…what he must do, and when. The book that had arrived the next day: that was still incomprehensible. How that related to the telephone call he had originally received was totally bewildering.

But this…

The lack of the material did not make the instructions any less potent, nor did it lessen the need for him to be in touch with his sister. What _had_ he got himself into?

The first part he could handle; a few trips to a library (somewhere out of his locale), and a surf on the Internet at a cybercafé should do it. He could check a few things with his sister when he could…that would be enough…

But what he had to do first…

The man was not, by nature a physical being, having spent more than a dozen years sitting behind a desk arranging financial transactions (and doing under the table deals as often as he could). He was not below bribery, employer larceny or money laundering.

But what they were asking him to do was…

Terrible. There was no other word for it. If he'd have known they wanted him to do something like that he would never have become involved. He had expected the job to be like any other money crime – fraudulent bank accounts, letters, companies that only existed on paper…

But now...

What choice did he have? Money had been transferred to his bank account in lieu of locating people to extract certain information. The details that had been written down had been scant, consisting of four words, two names, one place, one date. And one unspoken instruction. There was a reason these people contacted him. Sighing at the blank computer screen he knew what he had to do.

The office was now empty; those who had spent hours on overtime had long since departed. A wave of nausea swept over the man as the terrible deed that he must do hit home violently and unexpectedly and he got to the gents just in time to vomit into a toilet.

Wiping his face with a cold paper towel and looking at his slightly manic appearance in the large, well-lit mirror the man recalled the second name. Perhaps he should find that telephone box near Garrick Street and Bedford Street. It was time to contact his sister.

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The local weather around Hogwarts changed with the seasons as one might expect. Summers were bright, warm and often humid, bringing all manner of insects and small mammals out into the safety of the deserted school grounds. Winters brought with them first biting cold, inducing the blue hue of exposed hands, legs and arms, and then snow, a blanket of which often covered the grounds like permafrost, often refusing to budge until sometimes well into March.

There was one constant feature out of all of these, something that Tabitha Penwright had almost forgotten and which she had been reminded on more than one occasion since she had returned to the school. No matter what the season, no matter the outside temperature or time of year, it was always windy. And not just the blustery gusts that removed your hat in an instant either. These winds blew down the corridors of mountains, funnelling their energy around the school so that if you were in the lower grounds heading towards either Hogsmeade or (if you had a death wish) the Forbidden Forest, the strong airstream would catch your clothing, making you work much harder. Of course, the longer you stayed at the school the more used to them you got, until you hardly noticed them. Other people, Tabitha self-corrected quietly.

It was this pocket of air that Tabitha was doing battle with as she returned to the school. The castle was alight and alive with voices, some of whom she would have the pleasure of meeting, she supposed, in the morning. As the wind whipped past her robe again, pulling with it her frock Tabitha cursed like a muggle as she tried to smooth it down.

Why had she volunteered to take Umbridge back to the broom-sheds? The woman clearly knew where they were. But it wasn't as if Tabitha had exactly volunteered. Now she was heading back to the castle, where she would seek out her bedroom and spend the night before standing in front of students and getting them to learn about muggles. Not entirely a recipe for rest and relaxation, Tabitha concluded as she pushed against the rocky outcrops that littered the landscape.

As she made her way back Tabitha's mind was filled with thoughts of the conversation that had filled the air on her outward journey and she realised that her accompaniment of Dolores Umbridge was not entirely for the Undersecretary's geographical benefit. She had confided to Tabitha that she believed Dumbledore to have allied himself once more with his secret Order which consisted, Dolores speculated, of the wrong sort, those who the ministry was endeavouring to control and contain: werewolves, fugitives such as Sirius Black, and even muggle-borns.

Tabitha had not reacted to Umbridge's theoretical inclusion of herself on the black list: long ago had the Mysteriour disconnected herself from the word. Instead, as Dolores's list grew more outlandish Tabitha's thoughts had turned to her task. As a Mysteriour to find out exactly what this so-called Universal Link actually was, this was part of her motivation for being at Hogwarts (the other being she didn't want to face Umbridge's wrath otherwise).

But the double-edgedness of the sword of discovery meant that when she found out what it was Umbridge would use it as a weapon to use against Dumbledore's supposed re-grouped Order and Cecilia Frobisher herself. It wasn't as if the Undersecretary had said that to her, nor would Tabitha object to meeting this muggle if only to talk to her about the link. But to plan to use the solution of a mystery in such a base way made Tabitha Penwright feel uncomfortable and a traitor, by association, to her profession.

"…and I expect the details of the aforementioned Wizard Magic and Muggle Science to be fully revealed to our representative who will not only be teaching Muggle Studies but will be undertaking the research role formerly occupied by the muggle…"

Umbridge's voice broke into Tabitha's consciousness as a random sentence that her boss had spoken at the staff meeting the morning before echoing around her mind. The teachers knew why she was there, as did Severus Snape, with whom she would be working. As too did Harry Potter, whose presence at the Muggle Studies classroom that evening had been both unexpected and brief. He had mentioned Cecilia Frobisher too and had said about discussing what he knew with her and this had taken Tabitha by surprise, not least because interacting with this young person had been one of her major worries.

Before her now Tabitha recognised the base of the rocky outcrop on which Hogwarts was built Tabitha ran through her mental "to-do" list once more, a strategy that she used to settle her mind when things were awry:

…get the information she needed, about Cecilia Frobisher and about the Universal Link. Find out what was known about science and investigate the potion that Dumbledore had given to her in the trial and ascertain its construction. Report all of these things to Fudge himself via Umbridge. Oh, and teach muggle studies as well.

The wind whipped past Tabitha again as she made her climb back up towards the school as she contemplated the future. It was a futile task anyway for she had made her choice. Pulling her robe closer to her body Hogwarts' new muggle studies teacher banished all thoughts of her old life and focused on her new, if temporary, one.

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Cecilia Frobisher sat in the living room of the cottage staring at her notes. Upstairs Remus was in the bathroom, relaxing after work…his work for Dumbledore with the Order, his first destination each evening on coming, as regular as clockwork. Above her the floorboards flexed, and she heard him climb into the old enamel bath that was about very old and always made Cecilia feel that she was firmly in the 1950s. The décor therein was faded flower wallpaper with the lavatory having a tall cistern above with a long pull-chain. Despite its age however the plumbing seemed to be relatively new and was muggle friendly (no magic-controlled taps, thank you very much) and as much as she loved a bath at Hogwarts the same sensation of relaxation and contemplation would result here, in Remus's cottage.

Well, not this time. This time, the warmth of the water did not loosen up her muscles as expected; the warm air and steam did not soothe her mind and she was now sitting; in fresh pyjamas that had dried lovingly on the washing line that day she was not sitting with the next step in her research hard at work.

The main concern on her mind, which was driving her to distraction, was what she had promised Tonks that she would do for her on listening to the witch's gabbled message about her rapid matrimonial decision. Looking back, Cecilia's hasty agreement had made her repent at leisure. Much as she didn't mind telling Remus in principle, each time she had thought about it (either before he had arrived home that day or after), the words got jumbled up in her mind and she hadn't even been able to form a sensible string of sentences that would make her meaning plain.

Why had she promised? It seemed even more alarming than anything that she had done in the wizarding world before.

Her second concern was her conversation with Sirius and the potion a few days ago, not the potion for Harry but the other one. What if Remus's best friend decided to tell him what she was attempting? Much as Sirius Black seemed to have changed from the charismatic charmer with a vendetta against her when he got depressed about his life, Cecilia wished she hadn't been so willing to share her secret with him when he was sharing his. The thought had crossed her mind when she was feeling in a defensive mood that perhaps Sirius had been making up the story in order to goad her on secret from her, although that hypothesis had not lasted long.

What about Petunia Dursley's trace? Why was it that her DNA showed the "W" band when she was, as far as Cecilia knew, not a witch? She wished she could ask someone but Cecilia knew Lily and Petunia's parents were dead and she was not likely to ask anyone to take her back to Godric's Hollow any time soon.

There was Caelius, too. She wished she could talk to Remus about him and she had resigned herself to asking Dumbledore when they next met what he knew, as he seemed to know so much about "Mysterious Mythology" already, perhaps he could make her feel less worried about all of this.

And then, above everything else was the potion. Number 30 seemed to be progressing, she had made some gains with the base and now she was on the second blend of top notes. But Cecilia was not feeling the satisfaction of achievement as she had done all those months ago with the first one and, she had to admit, Severus was partly right when he said she would do better with it were she still at Hogwarts.

Above her the ceiling creaked again and she heard a faint "woosh" of the bathwater evaporating (despite the plumbing being mugglish Remus still liked to fill and empty his bath the wizard way) and she knew that in about five minutes' time he would be down and sitting with her, asking her what she wanted for tea.

Cecilia sighed. So much for freeing herself from mystery and intrigue which was what she had expected when she'd resigned from the Order. It just seemed to have remained as clandestine as it ever was.

She turned over a page in her notebook, her eye coming to rest, funnily enough, on the section of notes about the lycanthropy cure. And of course there was this. Cecilia had written copiously about this, writing in semi-code lest Remus or Severus were to chance upon it. As she refreshed her mind with her own progress about this her heart both soared and sank: with this her beloved could be cured, but did this give her the right to take time away from Harry's potion? It was no wonder she didn't feel completely satisfied with her progress but then, she couldn't have ignored the notes.

Just then she heard the familiar creak of the top step floorboard as Remus began to make his way downstairs and she flicked back to the section in her notebook about potion 30. Smiling as he got to the bottom he sat next to Cecilia and she folded the notebook closed as he bent over to kiss her on the cheek.

"All nice and clean, love?" she asked as he sat down next to her on the settee. Remus nodded, extending a hand to prevent her from putting down her notebook.

"There's no need to stop working," he replied, bringing the book back to her lap, "and once we've had tea, maybe I can help?" Wearily Cecilia nodded, hoping it looked enthusiastic and it seemed to do the trick as Remus smiled. "So how was your day?" he continued. This time he saw her face fall and he took her hand quickly.

"The work is stressing you out," he concluded before Cecilia had a chance to say anything, "I can see that. Now you've resigned, there's no reason why you need to continue at that pace, or even at all if you don't want – " He broke off when he saw the expression of horror on her face.

"It's not that, not the work," Cecilia conceded, wrapping her hand around Remus's as he continued to hold it. "The process of the work is not difficult, it's just – " This time it was Cecilia's turn to break off as she took in Remus's expression. She dared to continue.

" – there are so many unknowns that I just need to get to the bottom of, as quickly as I can," she finished. Remus's face relaxed and it occurred to Cecilia that he was worried that she was going to say something else. Something along the lines of leaving, maybe. "Do you think…perhaps you could listen to the theory? I'd really appreciate a second opinion?" One that's not Severus's, she added, but to herself.

Remus Lupin's face broke into a smile that made Cecilia Frobisher fall in love with him all over again.

Over the course of the next quarter of an hour in the living room of a cottage built by the ancestors of one of them two people shared an intimate if not particularly clear conversation. Neither of them moved from their seated position and they continued to hold hands as one discussed their problems and the other nodded, listened and occasionally questioned or commented. The main theme revolved around how wizardly a person had to be to be a wizard, whether there was a cut-off point in their ability and if, were a person a wizard, they could change their fate by mere will. Cecilia explained that it was such intricacies behind which lay the key to refining Harry's potion to perfection and she described the anomalies in Petunia Dursley's trace.

"I can see that there is a great deal still to be done," conceded Remus as he looked back at Cecilia. "I only wish that I could help you in some way. You idea – it is so…" Cecilia nodded as she clasped Remus's hand, for it had not moved since she had begun.

"You _could_ help," Cecilia suggested, holding tighter to her lover's hand, "that is, if you are still in touch with Harry."

"I could speak to Dumbledore the next time I see him," said Remus softly, his features sagging slightly under self-consciousness. "I can't risk moving round Hogwarts or using the floo network to contact him, not since the ministry…" Cecilia raised a finger to his lips and shook her head, breaking her hand-hold with him and stroking him on the shoulder.

"Please don't worry about that," she said shaking her head as Remus kissed her raised fingertip. "I'm sorry to have mentioned it. In any case, it'd be better that Harry didn't know about it just yet."

"Is that everything?" asked Remus concludingly. "Shall I start some supper? Or is there anything else you want to talk about?" Cecilia sighed as the thought of Remus's brother streaked like a comet over the dark canvas of her mind and she nodded.

"Mysterious Mythology," she said as the secret came out at last.

"What about it?" Remus got to his feet and made his way over to the bookshelves that were set into the alcoves on both sides of the fireplace and handed her the battered, charred copy that Dumbledore had given back to her before she'd left Hogwarts. About to decline Cecilia recalled the day that Remus had given it to her, when it had been relatively new and burn-free but instead took it from him and flicked open the first page. There, in its part-incinerated state, the border read, "Energy Light Magic".

"How long did your family have it? When did Raymond Lully give it to you?" Remus sat beside her again and his eyes traced over the book in her hands before suddenly looking back at Cecilia, tracing the outline of her features as he had done the tome so intricately linked with his family.

"Lully gave it to my father, and there it has always been," he looked across at the gap in the otherwise unbroken line of books. "It's been in the family as long as I can remember. All wizard families have a copy, you know, although not one of them was like mine. It wasn't till I got to Hogwarts that I realised it was different, when I took it with me. And I only did that because – "

And there the words remained unspoken. Had not Cecilia known the end of the sentence, deep down, that he had taken it to remind him of his family because it had been the stories therein that had kept him going after he had been bitten and condemned to life as a werewolf, she would surely have questioned him. Had she done that then her heart would surely have broken at his sorrow. As it was her knowledge must have been clear on her face and save a brief nod of confirmation by Remus that conversation ended there.

"So you didn't tell me," he continued in an altogether brighter tone, "what was it you did today?" Cecilia smiled as he got to his feet and she followed him into the kitchen.

"Well, all of this," Cecilia said, gesturing to the pile of washing that she had recovered from her makeshift washing line which through serendipity the heavens had not opened upon the laundry when she had returned from Ambleside. "Funny what some elbow grease will do" she added, laughing inwardly at Remus's expression. "I mean, I did it by hand. There are a few things I missed, if you wouldn't mind taking a look" Cecilia continued, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs as Remus began to fill it with water from the end of his wand. She watched as he continued to prepare some food, potatoes and cabbage to go with a roasted something (she hoped that it would be vaguely recognisable this time: roast hedgehog had been a shock) in the oven, marshalling the cutlery from the drawers to peel and chop and scrape.

"Oh, and there was Tonks of course. She popped into the grate this afternoon." Clipping the last word short, Cecilia bit her tongue behind her lips to stop herself from declaring the witch's recently-changed marital status to her old work colleague. Remus looked up from his potato peeling which he was coordinating as if a symphony orchestra conductor, the potatoes flying over to the boiling water as they were peeled, and nodded.

"How is she?"

"Well," commented Cecilia truthfully as she braced herself to break the news to Remus. "Her usual self. We had a good long chat when we went out – "

The crash of a pan of boiling water hitting the tiled floor of the cottage's kitchen stopped Cecilia in mid-sentence and she gasped.

"You went out?!" declared Remus in alarm, seemingly oblivious to the watery pool growing between them. "Why?"

"To get some things and – "

"You know I can get you what you need!" protested Remus, staring at her. "It's dangerous! You really should have known better!" Cecilia got to her feet as the water began to swim about the legs of the kitchen table with potato islands landing sporadically around it.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, looking in bewilderment at Remus and at the same time searched for a cloth in order to dry up the additional Lake that was being added to the District.

"The ministry, of course," replied Remus, his tone now altogether stilted and stiff. Just as Cecilia had reached the pile of clean tea towels that she had cleaned and ironed that day he waved his wand and the potatoes and water too receded into the tip of his wand. He then used it to transport it back to the kitchen stove, a frown still upon his face.

"Tonks did mention security measures," agreed Cecilia. "Is this connected to the werewolf code, love?" Remus nodded as instructed more water to boil at the command of his wand before assembling a new collection of potatoes and drilled the peeler again to strip each one of its skin in turn. Leaving the potatoes again he turned to Cecilia and made his way over to her as she returned to the kitchen chair she had so hastily left moments ago.

"I just want you to be safe. Promise me not to go out without me?" His look was endearing. She nodded.

After dinner, and the resultant clearing up of the dishes Cecilia made her way back to the utility room with Remus. They had agreed that he would help her with the potion that evening in order to speed her to the end of potion 30. She prepared the ingredients under pestle and in mortar while Remus began to perform the spells that the new blends required and Cecilia began to think about how she could turn the conversation around to mentioning Tonks's marriage.

She began to talk to him about where she and Tonks went when they were out that afternoon but the conversation quickly turned to Remus's mission for Dumbledore that might take him away for a few nights. As she ground the lovage root and picked up the next ingredient she fought the urge to press him further as the thoughts of her other potion filled her mind.

"That's wolfsbane then," said Remus, his words like a burglar in the unguarded domain of her mind. Cecilia jumped, with a few leaves in hand and she opened her palm as Remus looked at it before looking back to her. "I've never seen it in real life before…you'd never know that it'd help me…looks so ordinary…"

"Some of the most innocuous things are powerful," replied Cecilia as she nodded at his gesture to add them to the mortar. "That's often the key. I just wish it was that simple for this potion."

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The vision of the figure traversing her way across the glorious landscape of the school grounds evaporated as he caught sight of the choice before him. No matter how much he delayed the decision of choosing between them Severus Snape knew that indeed a choice must be made.

He looked again at the table in front of him, upon which lay a selection of otherwise innocuous ingredients. Two potions before him in embryonic form but only one could be completed. Only one could become fully formed and go on to fulfil its destiny. The choice was his: of the two people whom he (for want of a better phrase) cared for he had to choose whom he had would betray.

Merlin damn it! Bunching up his fist Snape slammed it against the sturdy wooden boards hard enough for some of the ingredients to absorb the energy, making the quake and roll. This should not be so difficult. And he needn't have made it so. It would not have been so difficult had he not, upon his visit to Lupin's cottage, probed Cecilia Frobisher's memories. But the feelings she had expressed…

…he should not have told that the wolfsbane potion required the same ingredients as Harry's potion, and even less should he have made some for her to give to Lupin. She had probably worked out by now that any cure for him must have a similar constitution. And with such a limited supply of the ingredient…

Snape stared at the thin, limp herb with an expression of pure hatred which stared in its inanimate state treacherously back at him. Before he had a chance to carry out his ire on the herb with a pestle and mortar however a familiar feeling, like pins and needles prickled his left arm and he scratched at it absently.

So he calls the faithful, does he? A smirk played on Snape's features as the desire to be a fly on the wall at the scene that would unfold in approximately ten minutes time, and how those faithful few would scrape and bow at the shadow that was once the most powerful wizard in the world. And he _could_ be a fly on the wall too were he to focus on and practise transfiguration for a few hours but that defeated the object of remaining detached of his hateful, debilitating bond servitude. It was she, whose trust he had betrayed a day ago, that he had to thank for that.

The situation, therefore was this: the wolfsbane went either the woman for whom he had a strong emotion, to grant her wish of a potion that worked to cure the werewolf whom she had chosen to be her husband or it would be used for a young teenager to risk his life under precarious conditions in order to defeat once and for all the most powerful wizard that had ever lived.

Which should his head obey? And would he be able to live with the consequences with whichever decision he chose, for there was only one to make.

And all at once the future became clear as the ingredients on the table and the Potions classroom blended into one glorious whole. Snape smiled and stepped away from the table before making for the door.

It wasn't he who needed to make the decision. He had only to wait. The choice was hers.

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"Muggles!" The shriek had come from the direction of the portrait at the top of the stairs, shattering the otherwise stillness and tranquillity of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Looking up the main stairway Nymphadora Tonks rolled her eyes in the direction of her deceased maternal grandmother. "More muggles in my house!"

The night had been more than fraught and if the rest of the household were to be awoken with Grandmother Black's disquieting cries she didn't think she could handle having to explain to all and sundry why this little sleeping mouse of a child was on one of the Black household's contraband purple sofas. People were bound to come: it was inevitable. It was a credit to the strength of the Order that such was the result but by Merlin, it was inconvenient.

Making her way to the kitchen and propping the door open to the living room Tonks sat backwards on a chair and ran her hands through her limp, dull locks as she contemplated the startling and terrifying events of the evening.

Bathsheba had raised the alarm. By all accounts the absent-minded witch had been hunting around for the cat food that the older woman in the Aberdeen terraced house left out fresh for her, their stray and even though it was always in the same place Miss Braddle invariably forgot where that was. This was what had happened that night…

Tonks looked back at the sleeping child, remembering how upset she had seen her, how she had been crying desperately for her mother and father, and then for her Aunty.

"Should we take her?" Bathsheba had asked as the young girl had succumbed to an Eversleep charm, rather old fashioned Tonks recalled her confused self thinking as the middle-aged witch cast it. Bathsheba Braddle herself had retired to her own home once she had accompanied Tonks and the child back to Grimmauld Place. There was little option, really. Her leg had been badly severed; her usually kempt hair had been bedraggled and it looked as if part of one side was missing. Her face was filthy as if she had been lying in mud; where Tonks could see flesh drops of blood had dried and most of Bathsheba's usually immaculate (and expensive) clothing was now little use for its original purpose. It was the "crack" of her disapparation, Tonks supposed, that had awoken the wretched portrait.

Above her the floorboards of the guest bedrooms, where any of the Order who were staying over on a certain night slept, creaked to life and Tonks ruffled her hair with her fingers again. Molly Weasley would soon be with her, she knew, as would her cousin, although Sirius would be much later for his mother would shriek obscenities at Molly first, which would then wake him up. She racked her brains to think what it was she would say to whoever was first down the stairs and would encounter a sleeping child before them.

Bathsheba had been on her nightly duty round. Tonks knew this because the rotas had been decided only a couple of days ago and she had recalled that yesterday and tonight were her off-duty nights, which had prompted her to marry without due constraint on her time.

As Nick had been working that evening and had knocked onto his shift at around midnight Tonks took the opportunity to share with whoever was at number twelve her personal if cautious but exciting news again (she had had the pleasure of doing so that afternoon to a handful of the Order, much to their downright disbelief). When she had arrived no-one was around, with the exception of Sturgis Podmore who was on duty there and she had offered to relieve him of his shift in exchange for Friday, which the wizard (for some inexplicable reason – who wouldn't want a Friday off?) had agreed to.

And then…the emergency flare in the hearth had alerted her attention…

"What in heavens' name…Tonks!" Molly Weasley, hands to her face, dressed in a bright pink padded dressing gown and matching curlers and slippers stood, horror-struck, at the bottom of the stairs. She was staring in shock at the young girl, sound asleep and still in her "Bagpuss" pyjamas.

"Molly, I – " Tonks began, jumping off her chair and making her way across to the older woman. But before she had a chance to put her jumbled thoughts into any sort of order a "crack" brought Bathsheba back whence she'd gone, sporting a large bruise on her right cheek and an unsightly gash at the front of her scalp.

"'Sheba's the best person to ask," Tonks declared, looking at her aghast at her usually well-groomed appearance. The witch gave Tonks a "thanks for that" look before making her way into the kitchen. Tonks followed her, head slightly bowed. With one more look in the direction of the child, Mrs Weasley made after them, determined to get to the bottom of everything.

"I had edgestones placed around the house," explained Bathsheba, sitting heavily on a kitchen chair having, like Tonks just before her, propped one against the door in order to see the girl. Her breathing was not much better than when Tonks had seen her earlier and she wondered whether she should suggest that Bathsheba pay a visit to St. Mungo's.

"I'd heard the younger of the two women talking to a neighbour about disturbances. They alerted me to an intruder, someone who had entered the premises at about eleven thirty. I had to go, of course. And then I fell from my broom – " Tonks gave her a pitying look as she recalled the countless times she had done that herself.

" – they killed them!" Bathsheba declared the words both assertively and with alarm in her voice, the latter of which Tonks had never heard the otherwise feisty witch express before.

"Sh," hissed Molly Weasley, "not here!" She swung her arm in the direction of the sleeping girl before reaching up to close the door. Tonks shook her head and Bathsheba uttered, "eversleep", at which point Mrs Weasley sat back down and nodded.

"…they killed Mrs Wells and Miss Wells…Cecilia's mum and sister…?" Molly's words were slow and deliberate, whether out of ignorance or tiredness, or as a measure of control in an otherwise uncontrollable situation.

"Yes," nodded Tonks, glancing at Bathsheba, who shuddered.

"Who? Not Death Eaters; they would have killed the child as well."

"No, it seems to be a muggle attack, from what I could tell." Bathsheba glanced towards the door before shuddering again. "They, whoever they were, stabbed the women in their beds. Either they didn't know about the girl or they didn't want to kill her." Tonks looked through the open door pityingly at the child. She had taken her from Bathsheba when she had arrived at Falkirk Street while the older Auror had made one last brave attempt to seek out the murderer which had resulted in her being knocked out of the first floor window with great force and landing face down on the muddy lawn below. Fortunately she had been able to cushion her fall with a floating charm but still she had been badly injured.

"When should we undo the charm?" Tonks asked, looking between Molly and Bathsheba. "I do know the counter-charm and – "

"Well that rather depends on what we are going to do with her," interrupted Bathsheba hastily. "I mean, she can hardly stay here, and who is there to look after her? The nearest family she's got is Cecilia, and considering what'll happen if and when the Ministry find her…"

"What about the Ministry?" asked Molly suddenly. "Were they there? I mean, I know _you_ were there, dear," she added, smiling at Bathsheba. "Were you there on official business looking after them? Are the ministry going to be swarming around?" Bathsheba shook her head.

"As soon as muggles are befuddled they're not checked up on," she admitted, nodding as Tonks nodded too. "They are supposed to do spot checks but what with the security measures, there's more things for them to think about than befuddled muggles."

Together, the three witches looked in the direction of the orphaned Freya Mitchell, asleep soundly and deeply, curled up at the knee with arms folded over her chest and breathing softly.

"What're we to do now?" Bathsheba leaned back in her chair nursing a wound in her leg with her hand. "I didn't know what else to do with her other than get her out. Tonks? You could look after her." Tonks turned quickly in her seat and stared at Bathsheba Braddle as if the older witch had gone out of her mind.

"Me? Why'd you think that?"

"There's no-one else," replied Bathsheba with a shrug. "Besides, you're married to a muggle now, right?"

"Arthur and I can look after her," said Molly, looking between the two aurors. "I mean, if she has no-where to go and she can hardly stay here – " She broke off as a creak of the kitchen door drew their attention sharply.

"What are you whispering about?" asked Sirius, looking at the three women before him. "And what is a child doing asleep on the sofa?"

"Weren't you here when Bathsheba floo'd?" asked Tonks, shaking her head. "It was obviously important then, whatever you were doing in your chimney in Uncle's study that it wasn't receiving floo messages."

"I heard mother's screaming," said Sirius, glancing out of the door at the sleeping Freya and pointing to her. "Is _that_ what she was shrieking about?" His cousin nodded.

"She's Cecilia's friend's daughter," said Bathsheba, shrugging again.

"And she's not a _that_," said Tonks, chidingly.

"Ah, the befuddled muggles and the little girl," said Sirius, looking intrigued as Molly shook her head exasperatedly. Bathsheba nodded and Tonks frowned at him.

"Cecilia's mother and sister," she clarified bluntly. "And we cannot take her to Cecilia, not on our own. We've got to consider Dumbledore's security measures…" Sirius raised his eyebrows at Tonks's clarification before looking at Bathsheba, who was fussing over her wounds again.

"So what happened?" he asked her. "They're impressive, whatever it was."

"I was doing my rounds and the edgestones alerted me to an intruder. It must have been a muggle; a wizard would have attacked me with a wand rather than leave it to gravity."

Getting to his feet Sirius made his way out of the kitchen as Bathsheba recounted the tale of her injuries again, rather more for her own benefit than for anything else. Tonks rose too and elbowed him out of the way, getting to the child's side before her cousin and kneeling beside her. Sirius smiled as he watched her stoke the hair from the little girl's face, tucking the dark strands as a curl behind her ear before picking her up in her arms. Refusing to answer the questions of both Molly and Sirius (and ignoring the shrieks of the wretched portrait) Tonks carried her upstairs

Her bedroom, the one that she used when she stopped at Grimmauld Place, was cool; the cold currents of air wafted past Tonks as she made her way in the darkness over to the spare bed opposite the one that she herself usually took. She lay the girl down on top of the covers before magicking the light into existence. She'd floo Nick, she thought decidedly. He needed to know that she was going to be stopping here tonight. And by the time she had done that others of the Order would surely have arrived and a decision on the child's fate would be made.

"Not that you'll be going anywhere else than with me," Tonks declared maternally as she lifted up Freya with one hand and drew the covers back. She'd take her. The child knew Nick, that Tonks knew. And after that…

Looking down at the muggle child who was sleeping in the her own bed, in a bedroom in the house that had belonged to wizards with extreme views on non-magical beings Tonks shook her head as she wondered what her own life was about to become. She sighed.

And then, furled tightly in the girl's hand Tonks noticed something, something the child must have brought with her when Bathsheba had rescued her from her former home. Carefully folding back her fingers the young witch took a little piece of paper, folded and squashed so that it was almost hidden to all but the child herself. Unbidden tears pricked in Tonks's eyes as she looked upon a drawing, signed untidily by the young artist herself, a drawing of her family and her cat.

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A/N: I know it was short – hope you are still enjoying! The next one will be with you soon. Please let me know what you think!


	12. or Flight

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Hope you are enjoying!

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It was late enough on that night to be early morning. Cecilia Frobisher was sitting up in bed reading through the information in her books again. Not that they needed reading: Remus had helped her move on the potion to an even greater level that evening which meant that tomorrow that there was a possibility that she would be able to finish number 30.

Then that might be it. She might never need to work on a potion again, and the world would have a chance to be free of the terror that was Voldermort, the ministry security that were clearly troubling Remus would evaporate like dew on May grass. If the work she was about to do over the next few days were fruitful Snape could take it back to Hogwarts, check it for efficacy before giving it to Harry. And then Remus John Lupin and Cecilia Jane Frobisher would be able to get married and live happily with each other forever.

The dream in her mind began to diminish as her eye caught the time. Quarter to three. Why wasn't he back yet? She had been fighting ever-strengthening thoughts of dread with random but inadequate defences of hope.

He was carrying out his duty and it had taken him much longer.

He was at Grimmauld Place for an Order meeting.

He was…

…he was at the ministry again, answering difficult and guilt-implied questions…

…at Grimmauld Place having been called there in an emergency and having not been able to get there because he couldn't floo…

…he was fighting a battle, a battle with Death Eaters…_THE_ battle…

Cecilia ran her fingers through her long limp locks as she tried to quell her corrosive anxieties. She looked at the clock again. Almost ten to three. Where _was_ he?

Slipping out from between the sheets Cecilia made her way across the room to the window. The small light behind her reflected onto the glass and she shivered, folding her arms across her chest. Her thin night-gown was not enough to keep out the cold but, as she looked across the darkened wilderness.

He was out there…

…not _there _exactly…

…but somewhere…

Cecilia swallowed as she watched the silhouette of a tree sweep across the path of the gibbous – though waning – moon. It was long past his werewolf time; it wasn't because of _that_ that he wasn't here…

…her mind continued to wander as she recalled what else Remus had told her about his lycanthropy. He hadn't wanted her to see him transform, a request to which Cecilia had acceded for Remus's sake (regardless of how useful the information might now have been to her other research) but there had been a day the month before that he hadn't had much choice. The sudden-ness had been more of a shock than his actual change in physical form on the steps of the cottage and had Cecilia not thought to throw the door closed and watch him from their window then it might have been the last.

The wind blew through the trees again, obscuring temporarily the light of the moon. Cecilia shivered again. This time she reached for her cardigan, one that she had draped over the rose-print fabric chair.

That will be it, Cecilia nodded to herself. And the idea once conceived burrowed opiately into her mind infiltrating the hideout of each hostile fear. She remembered when he had explained to her that sometimes, even with wolfsbane, the urge to track sometimes became too much. Often, he'd said, he'd follow the scent of day trippers or experienced hikers, travelling for miles in the solitudinous wilderness to ease the tension of his residual instinct.

She couldn't begin to understand, of course. But to her logical mind it made sense. So perhaps it was the sanctuary of science that was her succour –

– a clatter downstairs –

Cecilia bolted from her reticent contemplation and darted from the room, flinging the door heavily against the wall and hammering down the stairs. It had come from the kitchen and moments later she found herself standing barefooted on the cold tiles in the darkness.

No Remus.

But what there was, was –

– an owl, perched on the broken guttering above the window. It rattled the metal window frame again by sliding its claw into the small gap between it and the window pane. Cecilia breathed.

"Okay, okay," she said to the owl, walking slowly over the floor and looking at it through the window. He's sent a letter; he knew she'd worry.

Opening the window she pulled open the ribbon from the out-thrust leg of the bird whose expression conveyed inner ire at clearly having been disturbed from an intrepid hunt somewhere.

"Thank you," Cecilia whispered as the bird flew away and she watched it momentarily take flight towards the moonlight before cracking the wax on the back of the parchment. She strained with the borrowed light that the earth's satellite reflected before switching on the kitchen light though it took her two reads through for the message within the letter to sink in.

The letter was from Hermione. Once she had realised this Cecilia exhaled again and she drifted absently to the kitchen table and stared at the neat handwriting, adhering to the page as if they had been printed.

There were some questions about muggle studies and what she should study for the OWL examination, explaining that they have a new ministry-appointed muggle studies teacher. From the tone of the second paragraph Cecilia got the impression that Harry offering to help her with science was not a popular move and the end of her letter detailed Hermione's surprise as to why people hadn't come up with it before only, of course, they had.

Cecilia's initial instinct had been to discard Hermione's letter in favour of further, fervent worry over her beloved but there was something in the character of the letter which kept her attention. Hermione wrote as she spoke: determined, straightforward and to the point, conveying a tone of assertive maturity. She spoke of her work that she had prepared for her lessons which, Hermione had explained, would begin tomorrow, that she would need Golpalott's Third Law, that "the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components".

This was interesting, Cecilia thought, even more so that Hermione had pointed it out to her (in what could be interpreted as a mildly patronising tone). She had indeed come across this theorem herself and it had stuck out amongst other rambling tones as being almost scientific in its demeanour. It fitted in with the idea of energy; especially the energy that existed to hold molecular bonds together and Cecilia couldn't help remarking silently to herself how astute the young witch actually was.

And then a thought struck her –

– no!

But…

…could she ask her? Could she ask Hermione again…?

Cecilia closed her eyes and visualised her myriad of problems connected like intertwined colourful laces as she looked for the gap, where the ends of the laces were…

What did was it she wanted to ask her, more than she had already done? Should she even have sent that owl containing those questions? She hadn't replied in this, so presumably she hadn't received her original one. The worry about where it was hit Cecilia in the chest, a feeling only overcome when she considered that this child could help her with the answers to her friend's future. It was a moral dilemma. Cecilia closed her eyes once more and, all at once the question flooded her mind.

Should she floo Hermione to ask for her help with the potion? Check tse if she had received her last owl?

She was a child still after all and deserved her education. And yet, through those eyes, uncluttered by the fetters of muggleness, she would probably be able to…

When reality registered with Cecilia again she was standing in the utility room with her glassware around her. Somehow she had acquired a pen which was now poised over the back of the parchment. She went to write…

…but the stopped short of scribing the letter of her first word.

But that information…she could help to answer so much…

No.

I can't ask her to do it, thought Cecilia finally, pulling open the drawer from which she had originally removed the quill. I cannot. She would…no.

Turning over the letter again her mind deviated from her own issues to one of Hermione's. The smile crept over Cecilia's tired features as she read the gushing sentences that told her about how Hermione and Ron had finally found happiness with one another after months of messing around.

She'd paraphrased the last bit, of course; it was obvious that the two of them were made for each other. It was also obvious to everyone else apparently, according to Hermione and the thought of their wasted time doing thing that teenagers did when they were bashful and coy in each others' company. But surely that was what youth was for? And adulthood, she pointed out to herself wryly, citing her pre-relationship with Remus.

Turning over the parchment again Cecilia began to write. Not about her work, which she so readily wanted to do, but about areas of muggle studies which she considered to be worthy of exploration. Hermione had said that she was going to distribute the list to those students who were to sit their Muggle Studies OWL, who had asked Hermione what she had been studying. Writing down some themes – electricity, money and banks, social history, entertainment – Cecilia began to feel a little flattered that they missed her.

Cecilia put her pen down and folded Hermione's letter in half. He was not back. It was after four o'clock in the morning and Remus wasn't home.

Then I will wait for him. A thought, full of duty and love conjured from the back of Cecilia's mind marched forward as if an emotional battalion of loyalty. He will come back, and when he does I will be there for him.

Turning back to the pile of work that lay within the drawer from which she had extracted a pen Cecilia picked up the notes for her work, her real work, the work on the potion with Snape for Harry.

Other thoughts crowded for attention now as the single-minded of her task drove to fight them off. Cecilia tore a page from her notebook and began to write…to consolidate her thoughts in order to see a path ahead. Her thoughts converged rather abruptly upon the argument that she had had with Snape that afternoon. It had bothered her, though she didn't know why. Cecilia did know, however, that she couldn't speak to Remus about it. Much as he tolerated their collaboration she knew that deep down he didn't understand it, especially with what he had been through at the ministry, something which he was still very sensitive about. Whereas Remus followed his instinct both Cecilia and Snape followed logical progressions. Different field, same character trait.

Rubbing her temples and inadvertently drawing on her face in black biro Cecilia massaged the growing tension therein. This was just too much. Why hadn't he returned, or at least contact her? Unless…

Putting down her pen and making her way out of the utility room onto the cold tiles of the kitchen again Cecilia crossed them and opened the living room door before climbing up the stairs to bed.

…what if Tonks had told him of her marriage, and the Order were celebrating? That could be a reason…especially if they had come off shifts or were just going off?

Holding momentarily onto the banister at the top of the stairs and waiting for the dizzy spell to pass Cecilia swallowed as the head-rush returned her to real life before making her way back to bed. He wasn't here yet, and he hadn't contacted her. But when he did return, and gave her the real story, she would feel foolish that she had fretted as she had done.

Climbing between the now-cool sheets Cecilia plumped her pillow before putting out the light. She lay in semi-darkness as by now dawn was promising to appear on the eastern horizon. And if he wasn't celebrating their marriage then that was one more thing to talk to him about when she next saw him.

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The evening before had also been the cause of another woman's insomniacal pacing. This woman was currently occupying the bedroom of the former in the former's former position which the latter now filled. To avoid confusion, we will refer to the former as Cecilia Frobisher and the latter as Tabitha Penwright, because those are their names.

The dawn-light began to direct itself into the room where Tabitha continued to tread, her pacing stilting every so often by a fervent glance into the fireplace. It was not the impending work that was Tabitha's worry, more the results of the conversations which Umbridge had seemingly made to members of the Hogwarts staff to which said staff had understandably taken exception and had confronted Tabitha about it.

The appearance of Minerva McGonagall at her door shortly after her return from accompanying Umbridge (when she had just about to investigate the interesting bathroom that was through the door at the far end of the room) had both shocked and worried Tabitha, a feeling which the subsequent meeting with Dumbledore, McGonagall and other members of staff had failed to quell.

Apparently Umbridge had left personal messages in the hearths of these members of staff instructing them on pain of ministerial interrogation that they must carry out with regard to their teaching, reforms and practices which she had specifically detailed and personal to these select teachers.

Not only were these teachers, McGonagall included, furious about these instructions it also turned out that Dumbledore had received a message too, one which he openly aired before the teachers present including a mortified Tabitha Penwright.

"What I'm about to tell Dumbledore will be public knowledge soon enough." In the green glow in the hearth below the former headmasters Umbridge's head bobbed as if it were a tethered balloon at a fair blowing in the wind. "Should the instructions on your headship be unclear, Professor Dumbledore, I am only a fireplace away. I do not compel you to make these changes for the sake of it, I am here as a critical friend Albus, to make sure everything is taught as per the curriculum; to show that everyone has the opportunity; that no-one misses out as what is done here is vital to their future."

Tabitha had sneaked a look at the staff who were there as they watched the floo message: Severus Snape, his expression emotionless and igneous; Flitwick, her former head of house who was stamping his foot in exasperated annoyance; McGonagall who cast worried glances across to Dumbledore; Sprout, whose ire was made physical by folding her plump arms over her ample bosom and made accusatory comments between Umbridge's sentences.

"The redeployment of staff can happen at any time and tasks carried out by some of your existing staff may be subject to further change. As for Penwright, she is nominally your muggle studies teacher however her prime role is to uncover the Universal Link." Umbridge's impassive expression was the complete antithesis of that of Tabitha's; the said muggle studies teacher was beginning to wish that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

"See that she has access to all muggle works of science and the library, for that was what you agreed to before the Grand Wizengamot." Now, Tabitha had implored, unspoken, as all of the teachers began to stare at her. Swallow me now: anything to get away from this!

"Besides, muggle studies is not an important subject here; indeed it is probably the last year it will be studied, but we have a certain level of responsibility to these students." Shut up! Tabitha screamed silently to her boss. Just shut up!

But her wish for Dolores Umbridge to still her inflammatory message to which they were all privy came too late and thus fell on deaf ears. Around them Umbridge pressed on, condemning Tabitha to her fate. The most pejorative words so far echoed around Dumbledore's study, compelling even the portraits of the former headmasters to murmur their disapproval.

"Despite her obvious disability, Penwright is my representative from the ministry and it is through her that I will communicate further orders. You will treat her as you would treat me."

A feeling of dread soaked into Tabitha as water into blotting paper. The teaching staff, eyeing her carefully, wore expressions of a manner conveying exactly how they would treat Umbridge. If looks could kill (and sometimes looks _could_ kill in the wizard world), then she would indeed be totally kedavra'd. The wizards and witches, as one, began to form a circle around Tabitha who watched them in fear. And then Dumbledore, who had remained silent throughout Umbridge's denigration, got up from behind his desk and pushed between Trelawney and Sprout and had stood next to Tabitha, placing a delicate hand on her arm.

"Miss Penwright, how do you feel about this?"

His words had been soft and gentle, and his expression kindly. And yet there was an inner firmness that conveyed to her the same emotion that she had felt when she had been twelve and had stood before him as a new, yet old, Hogwarts student. Tabitha had glanced around her ire-filled colleagues and put into words her feelings silently in her mind.

How _did_ she feel? It was what she had agreed to when she walked back with Dolores to outside the castle grounds. Umbridge was to give her instructions for the teachers and it was her responsibility to ensure they were carried out. Not that she had agreed; Umbridge had a way of agreeing on behalf of the person she was talking to.

"It won't be difficult," Umbridge had said, though not in a manner intended to reassure, but to remind Tabitha of her obvious deficiencies as a wizard, "Dumbledore will have no choice but to do what the Wizengamot ordered him to do."

There had been nothing else for it: she had to agree wholeheartedly with Umbridge. Then almost instantaneously Dumbledore had summoned a house elf to accompany her back to her room.

She had closed the door on the curiously-dressed elf swiftly and stood behind it, holding it shut with her own bodyweight. Her head was now filled with Umbridge's words which were now also in her mouth…

…was her job to teach muggle studies or to find the Universal Link or to Umbridge's dirty work for her? Whatever her role, Tabitha had been extended full official auror powers in order to carry out tasks which supported all of these things up and including, Umbridge had explained, powers of arrest were she to capture Cecilia Frobisher herself. Not that she, useless Tabitha Penwright, could do most of those things herself however she had the authority to summon aurors to carry these out on her behalf.

No, not her behalf, Tabitha had reminded herself; were it up to her she would not be here and not be doing any of these things. But on behalf of the ministry.

All of this made her feel uncomfortable, even more so than actually being at Hogwarts and having to teach. The events of the previous day had invaded and held out despite Tabitha's attempts to block them in lieu of sleep. She had had a few hours' rest before her mind had forced Tabitha to face her disturbing and shameful thoughts and she had begun to go over things in her mind again.

Now it was very late at night which is to say it was early morning and Tabitha concluded that she had two choices. Either she stayed to fight, as she had steeled herself to do before she had arrived at the castle, or she could run away. If she did take the latter of course there would be no chance of her returning to the Department of Mysteries so she could complete her artefact and her career would be effectively ruined (Umbridge would see to that).

An ill-defined feeling she had not experienced for a long time pooled in the pit of her stomach and she looked at her fob watch which she kept on a silver chain around her neck. It wasn't too early. She could floo her mother. Even her cold-hearted pity at her calamitous situation which would inevitably return to a veiled account of the fault for Tabitha's situation being her own was appealing now.

It was a sad indictment of her family life made worse by her own insecurity. She always hated standing out and having attention drawn to her, something that had caused her to feel so uncomfortable the previous evening and had endured until now. She had endured years of ridicule in the muggle world for standing out: Robert's weird sister…Robert's strange little sister…sometimes this derision had even come from her own family.

And it didn't help when she went to Hogwarts; far from realising her hopes of fitting in of course her parents had then told people they had sent her to boarding school "to help her out of herself, give her character" and when she returned, having gained a not even a handful of wizard qualifications even her father (whom she loved above all of her family members) had wondered aloud what use her going to Hogwarts actually was.

So when she told her mother she was back at the "wretched school" she could imagine Ivy Penwright's words…

"…you barely know anything about your non-magic heritage…you turned your back on it when you left us all…and now they think you can teach young wizards about it…"

Well, the fact was she knew what she had to do and what to teach it. And the sooner that she started the sooner she could get back to her proper job at the ministry with her colleagues in the department of mysteries. And the sooner this feeling of absolute terror would pass her by.

Reaching up to the mantelpiece Tabitha's hands closed around the floo powder…and threw.

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He was up early. Far from getting any restful sleep that night he had spent the early hours of the morning sitting in the Gryffindor common room contemplating the future ahead. It was strange for Harry to have trouble sleeping in his bed at school; strange still than the place he ostensibly called home. Yes, the beds here had probably been here since the eleventh century, when Hogwarts was built compared to a new-ish single cabin bed that his aunt and uncle had reluctantly bought for him when he had returned to them at the end of his first year, but he would rather be here, with the ancient fittings and fixtures, watching the odd flickering of candle-light of other students as they settled down to sleep, or to talk to one another, at any rate.

Now, sitting by the elf-laid fire (Bingo had been on duty for the common-room that morning though he had ignored Harry as he cleaned) he watched the portraits of the famous and not so famous forebears waking up as the early summer sun elbowed its way in all its glory into the common room, washing the figures in a warm glow. They did not seem to be aware of Harry staring at them as they yawned and stretched, discarding outer bedwear before disappearing to the privacy of beyond their frames, returning minutes later dressed in their usual day clothing.

It wasn't as if he hadn't watched them before; several times in the previous two terms had he waited for dawn to break as he had mulled things over in the stillness and quietness of the common room. The unnerving regularity of morning ablutions of these pigmented figures invoked a sense of calmness in him. The times when he had worried about the potion that some strange woman was involved in making for him; the times when he had realised he had told his hitherto perfect godfather Sirius everything needed to know to attack her.

The time when, as the perfection of the potion neared, his brain was racked with unyielding panic wondering how the people he loved could be protected. That these former residents and semi-famous wizards going about their own business oblivious to the events of the world around them was somehow comforting.

Harry was waiting for the figure of an Elizabethan aristocrat to return to the portrait hanging adjacent the common room exit to reappear in his usual black jerkin and white ruff and his mind drifted to the feast the night before. Several students had not come back, most of them from Slytherin, Malfoy included. But then if _his_ father had just been accused of being a Death Eater, he wouldn't have come back either.

Watching the aristocrat glide gracefully into his frame Harry considered his immediate academic future. He had ignored most of the pre-term reading that they were supposed to have done when not at Hogwarts, intent on asking Hermione to brief him on what it was they were supposed to know. Well, that hadn't gone according to plan. In the common room the evening before she had been involved in more work than ever, books all around her as she concentrated on something or other. When he and Ron had approached her about it she was in a world of her own, referring to a letter that she had in her hand and talking tangentially about science and something about magic before penning a letter of her own.

"I know you're seeing her Ron, but honestly!" Harry had declared when they had returned to the other side of the common room, retiring to a pair of sofas with a chess set upon the low table that stood between them. Ron raised his eyebrows in apparent agreement but said nothing as he moved his queen to the centre of the board with Harry's to play "rock-paper-scissors" as was the custom when deciding which colour would go first.

Harry had actually enjoyed the game of chess, for the first time in ages. He and Ron had not spoken much over Easter; though he'd been at the burrow Ron had been unusually quiet and a bit secretive and then he had told him about a week before returning to Hogwarts, a few days before he left the Burrow for Privet Drive, that he had had the courage to ask Hermione out.

He had not been sure what to think of this. On the one hand it seemed strange: Hermione had been their friend for such a long time; it was odd to think of her in any other way. He tried to imagine being in Ron's position but to him she would always be his friend Hermione. On the other…Ron and Hermione had always seemed a little volatile and easily wound up by each others' comments, something that had never happened between Harry and either of them. So perhaps it did make sense that they were going out.

The mediaeval monk, whose frame hung two places to the left of the Elizabethan aristocrat, was still to return. Harry turned to the fireplace, whose fire was rapidly consuming the fuel that Bingo had carefully laid upon it.

In all practicality though not much had changed between all three of them; Hermione was still worried about her work, Ron still ate, slept and breathed Quidditch, enthusing on the subject for hours at a time and Harry? He had been thinking about the potion he must take to defeat Voldermort, and the future, and small, inconsequential things like that.

But he felt confident…

He and Ron had had a brief chat on the morning that he left the Burrow and he had shared with his best friend is bolstered feelings of certainty for the future. He had told him that he was no longer scared of taking the potion that Mrs Frobisher and Snape were to make; he would risk any side effects and that he had written as much to Mrs Frobisher when he had thanked her. He had been hoping despite Dumbledore's assurances to the contrary she would be sitting at the teacher's table and now, now that other woman had been sitting in her place, announced to all by that awful ministry woman to be new muggle studies teacher. He had even sought refuge in Snape and lost heart in his determination to carry out all that he had promised when his potions master and spinner of his fate had merely dismissed his apprehension at Mrs Frobisher's absence, urging him to co-operate with this other woman and provide less than accurate information.

"So, she's not coming back mate," Harry heard behind him as he stared at the roaring fire. "This other woman, Penwright, from the ministry, she's going to teach us muggle studies and Cecilia's going to stay where she is and make your potion."

"What? How do you know that?" Harry turned to see Ron standing next to him. Unlike Harry though, he was still in his pyjamas (tartan with ribbon trim) and he sank down next to his friend and patted him on the shoulder. Harry resisted the urge to throw off Ron's comforting gesture.

"Well, that's why you're down here fretting, isn't it?"

Despite himself Harry nodded, even though he felt, deep down, that _he_ deserved to know about Mrs Frobisher far more than his friends. Maybe his silence conveyed more to Ron than anything Harry were to have said but in any case, Ron smiled at Harry before answering his unasked question.

"Yes, Hermione wrote to her, and Cecilia – Mrs Frobisher, I mean, she's been owl-teaching her science," continued Ron conversationally. "She's starting to really understand it, you know? She feels so proud of it and we've agreed to have our own things, as well as being together." Harry continued to say nothing but this time his silence represented happiness at his friends' happiness. It also conveyed a little smugness: what Hermione was doing, as he had noticed the night before was what Cecilia had taught him almost eight months ago. That he knew more science than Hermione was quite heartening.

"You've been in contact with Sirius then?" Ron nodded to Harry's green-stained hand. He nodded, brushing of the remnants of floo powder into the hearth (taking care to avoid the flames).

"I tried three times, but I couldn't get hold of him at Grimmauld Place. They must have had a busy night with the Order. Last time I spoke to him I was at the Burrow." Harry got to his feet and stared at the fire again. "He's free, but that's not generally known. He's decided to keep his head down because of the secrecy and safety measures from the Ministry. He's been cleared but from what Umbridge was saying and the confusion in Diagonalley with the muggle parents I can't see his future being very bright."

"Hermione was devastated," said Ron, glancing towards the staircase where movements of stirring students had threatened the security of their conversation. "All that business at Diagonalley. I was happy to see her so content with her work last night. What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking," white-lied Harry. He had actually been thinking how weird it was that Ron was talking about Hermione like that. But also…

"I'm sure this Penwright teacher won't be that bad," commented Ron as he made his way towards the staircase. "We've got it double tomorrow, so we'll soon find out. You coming?"

"Already dressed," said Harry absently. "I'll wait for you down here." Watching his friend bound up the staircase he returned to the fireplace.

…Mrs Frobisher had been annoying at first, and he had put up with her forthright nature, so much so he had felt genuinely guilty for attacking her. Without her and Snape working together so closely at the coming of Voldermort's second rising he would have been killed, of this he was sure. He had a lot to thank her for. Not for the first time that day Harry wished she were there so he could thank her personally…

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"You're tired."

"Sirius, you're stating the obvious." Remus began to pace uncharacteristically before the fireplace in his friend's father's study, running his fingers through his hair. "Of course I'm tired. But what I'm also is angry, upset, frightened…" His words trailed off as he looked at the fireplace. He sunk to his knees and felt up for the floo powder that he knew was kept in the dish on the right hand side.

"What are you doing?!" exclaimed Sirius leaping up from his cross-legged-over-the-arm-of-the-chair position that he had just been occupying in a manner that he knew would have driven his father madder. "You can't contact her…"

"Cecilia's mother and sister are dead!" protested Remus, kneeling resolutely to the floor. "I have to find out, I must – " Seizing a handful of powder he made to throw it onto the roaring embers. Sirius held his wrist.

"I'm not going to contact Ce, not yet."

"Nor Tonks," chided Sirius. He felt Remus sag under his grip.

"She _was_ sweet, that little girl, just sleeping there," commented Sirius as his friend got to his feet, dusting the floo powder untidily into the dish. He watched him begin to pace again, running his hands through his hair anxiously.

"Who's out there sorting this out?" asked Remus, agitation in his voice. "_I _should be there; I _ought_ to have been…"

"You know what you agreed with Dumbledore," reasoned Sirius, approaching his friend slowly. "You're not to go on any mission until this thing with the ministry is sorted out. So it's with me and the filing, I'm afraid." Remus followed Sirius's gesture to the pile of ministry paperwork that Dumbledore had re-acquired and Arthur Weasley had bequeathed to his friend.

"It's been too long," growled Remus, his inner frustrations spilling out at last, as Sirius knew it would in the end. He – Sirius – knew what indefinite confinement was like but unlike Remus, had many methods of overcoming it. His friend knew little of hours of boredom, waiting out long periods of time with the single grain of knowledge that he was innocent. He had devised ways of passing the time between meals, imagining the past and sculpting the future. He knew how to occupy himself in his second confinement, here in his family home, with innocent voyeurism. So it was up to him to teach Remus how to cope with long periods of uncertainly

"It's been less than a week," said Sirius gently. "You've said it yourself; we all have to do things for the greater good. It could be a hell of a lot worse than Order work out in the field, and it's not like its permanent."

Then Sirius fell silent. He could tell his words were not helping Remus out of his mental torment. He watched as his friend walked away from him and over to the other side of the study, glaring furiously at the innocuous paper. A glimmer of self-righteousness rose and fell briefly in Sirius Black as he watched Remus vent his frustrations silently at the Order reports. _He_ never had the urge to do that; _he_ had internalised his anger and turned it to a weapon that he used to escape his prison cell. A small voice in his head he silenced the moment that it had arisen; its dying words reminding him of his need to get even with a certain muggle.

"It's not going to be forever," Sirius repeated, focusing his efforts on Remus's problem. "Besides – " A thought struck him. "Where were you actually, last night?"

Slowly, Remus turned to Sirius, his face a mask of guilt. He hung his head slightly before sagging visibly at the shoulder.

"Hogwarts," replied his friend quietly.

"Hogwarts?" repeated Sirius. "Why were you at – "

"Snape," intoned Remus dully.

"Snape? You went to see Snape? Why?" He stared at Remus, trying to read the answer from his friend's body language. "Why?" he repeated when he realised he could fathom nothing at all.

"I didn't make it," conceded Remus, sitting down on the chair he had formerly occupied briefly not ten minutes before. Sirius nodded. He didn't know why Remus wanted to speak to Snape so urgently that he had travelled non-magically to the north of the country and then turned round and came back again without speaking to him. But he could guess. Within his best friend beat a wildly illogical heart. Even without a full moon controlling him physically and emotionally Lupin's heart always triumphed over his head eventually.

"Snape is only interested in Harry's potion and deep down you know it." Sirius spoke calmly and clearly, hoping his steady tenor would be enough to soothe his friend. "I'm glad that you realised that before you embarrassed yourself in front of him."

He exhaled. It had worked: Remus nodded slowly.

"So I think that the best thing you can do is let Cecilia do her job, and once the potion is made then you won't have to worry about him any more."

Silence reigned. During that time Remus sat stock still, and said nothing. Sirius retook his seat opposite him, sitting at a more formal angle and taking a great interest in the intricately-decorated teapot that had housed their early morning liquid repast. Eventually Remus spoke.

"I don't like the way he just drops into the cottage when he feels like it! It's our home. He invades our home to speak to her at a whim, like he is checking on her safety!"

"I'm sure that's not his motive Moony, though I agree its bad form to call without an invitation." Remus looked across at him, his expression drawing Sirius back almost twenty years, to his own school days, when Remus had finally been cornered by James and Sirius before they had made him tell them about his lycanthropy. An expression of guilt, as if he – Remus – didn't believe his own words.

"I don't want to lose her, especially now that I am not what I once was – "

"You are everything you were," said Sirius gently. "Heavens Remus, you haven't lost your magical ability; you can curse as quick as ever you could when you were at school. You are just choosing not to use it for the sake of – "

" – the ministry. Who are after Cecilia," stated Remus Lupin dully. "What if they are to find her? What if whoever found her family discover where it is she is living? It's my home…our home. And I can't defend it properly. I can't defend _her_ properly. They might as well have had my wand for this and let my powers fade."

And that was what was worrying him so much to distraction, thought Sirius. He was going to take it out on Snape and almost did before he realised that it wasn't really to do with old Snivelly!

"That's why Tonks took the little girl," continued Remus. "She'd never even seen her before and yet she took it as read that the safest place for her would be with her and Nick Smith rather than with her godmother and me. Even she doesn't trust me, even though little Freya knows me."

"Freya?" Remus nodded. "Pretty name."

"And they let her do it," stated Remus stiffly, arcing his arm towards the door as an indication that he meant the rest of the Order.

"Well, she did go and rescue her with 'Sheba," commented Sirius, trying to sound off-hand. "She flew back with her all the way from Scotland. She obviously came over all maternal. Probably due to her – "

" – marriage," finished Remus stiffly. "Molly let it slip. But I have a sneaking suspicion that Ce was going to tell me yesterday. Oh!" He threw up his hands and got out of his chair in annoyance. "I must see her, let her know everything!" He made his way over to the fireplace again and reached towards the floo powder. Sirius was ready for him and almost immediately he was kneeling beside his friend.

"I agree."

"You agree? That I should go back and tell Cecilia that her family is dead and her goddaughter is living with Nick and Tonks?" Remus eyed Sirius closely, trying to detect the deception.

"Of course you should be the one to tell her; you're going to be married as soon as this is all over. You want to spend the rest of your life with her. It's the sort of thing married people do. So I'm told." He tried not to let his last statement sound bitter. His friend did not appear to notice as he replaced the floo powder as neatly as he had done ten minutes before, which is to say half in the bowl and half on the rug.

"But not right now. Right now you should rest and let everything settle in your mind. Then you should floo her and let her know you are safe, because knowing Cecilia she will be worried that you haven't been home. And then when I apparate you there, which I'm allowed to do because technically I'm not a wanted fugitive, you'll be back as quick as a flash, and then I'll be gone and you can tell her how and when you like."

He could see his friend was nearly all out of steam. Even if he wanted to argue with him Remus was beginning to flag.

"Look, take my room and I'll take my brother's. You know you sleep well there; you can't go back in this state to tell her, it wouldn't be fair." Remus's nod was pretty much all he could manage, Sirius suspected. He got back to his feet and helped his friend up by the elbow before leading him on towards the door.

Hand on the door knob, Sirius was about to turn it when he felt Remus grip his upper arm. Turning he saw deep-grained concern cut into his features.

"Do you…do you think I was stupid running off to Hogwarts, Padfoot?"

"Yes," said Sirius quickly. "Of course you were. You were doing it out of love, and anything motivated by that is always stupid. I should know, considering what I claimed to do because of it." He smiled and eventually Remus nodded.

"Thanks," he replied, shaking his friend's hand away. "Thanks for the sensible advice. And thanks for your room," he added as he stepped through the door that Sirius had opened onto the second floor corridor.

Sirius watched his friend make his way slowly and steadily across the landing before taking the stairs down a flight. He heard his own bedroom door open with its familiar hinged squeak and then close swiftly behind him. Then Sirius closed the study door and made his way back to the fireplace, taking a swift glance at the hideous carriage clock that had reappeared back on his father's mahogany desk (Kreacher had taken to restoring liberated possessions back to their original places around the house. Considering what he could be doing with the blood deed still open upon him, especially with a young muggle in the house that night, the return of his late parents possessions were the least of his worries).

Six-fifteen. Surely Cecilia Frobisher would not have remained up all night waiting for Remus to contact her?

Reaching up to the floo powder, Sirius paused. It was like spying on an agitated animal, caged and confused. Or at least when he had popped his head into the fireplace at the cottage at around four that morning, that was what her behaviour had seemed like to him.

Returning the green powder to its dish Sirius Black got to his feet and struck away the almost overwhelming temptation to spy on her by stamping his way towards the Order documents.

All was contained, he reasoned, and everything was going to plan. Cecilia would continue with the potion, she would give it to Snape when it was ready who would refine it ready for Harry. Remus would support her though her grief and she would neither long for the muggle world nor try to seek it. More than one person close to Sirius would lose their life, or their will to live if she did, both his best friend and Harry.

Sirius smiled. Long ago had he got over his blinkered, myopic protectiveness of his godson. All Harry would need to do was drink it and the terrifying danger that was threatening the world would…disappear, just as Dumbledore had planned. He looked joylessly at the Order parchments. His role, agreed with Dumbledore, was also important to the success of his plan. All would be well.

88888888

Abandoned in the corner of the utility room was a potion, its potential stunted while its parent made further progress its rival for attention. Were the potion not inanimate it might have felt not a small measure of jealousy that Cecilia Frobisher (a.k.a. "mum") had spent most of the last couple of days in slavish concentration with the other, keenly attending to its every need and whim. If the potion could turn any more green, then it would have done.

Oblivious to the bitterness of the rudimentary wolfsbane potion that was seething venomously at her from its flask at the back of the worktop Cecilia smiled indulgently at the base of Harry's potion, number 30 to be more precise.

She had many reasons to be happy. After rising at around seven that morning she was floo'd by Remus who told her that they had had a fraught evening with the Order and he would be back later on that day. He had told her he loved her (which was enough to cheer her up on its own) and she had told him how much she had missed him, and that she loved him too, very much. He had smiled slowly, in the way that Cecilia now recognised that he used to when he though she hadn't noticed him looking at her, a cross between gladness and wistful contemplation.

Her good fortune continued half an hour later when, after breakfasting, she had taken up the new gas canisters and was able to put into practise the batches that she had planned over the last couple of days, her delay in practical research having appeared to have made her select the ingredients ratios carefully enough that she had probably more than made up for the time she had lost.

So much so…

…that number 30 was nearly finished and she would have to wait for two versions of the base to cool before she knew whether it was successful, which meant…

…with molecular glee the abandoned wolfsbane potion issued plantish gratitude that it was now to be worked, if only to the next stage. Eyelessly it watched her hand reach for its flask, nervelessly lurching forward before being placed on a cork ring.

In its place in the corner the potion expressed mockery to its rival which had clearly duplicated itself into obscurity. Abandoned. See how you both like it.

Not abandoned, thought Cecilia as she looked at the burgundy liquids in identical round-bottomed flasks where the wolfsbane potion had once been. She needed Severus of course to check her theory and so both bases for no. 30 must be bottled up for him to analyse at his leisure. And if she was not much mistaken, with so many of the wavelength and frequencies coinciding between the base and match she shouldn't be far off from making number 30 being as close to perfection that she could be with this version.

Not that she had thought to ask him whether he had analysed the last one. Well, to be honest, thought Cecilia a little defensively, she _had _thought. She had planned to ask him when she next saw him, but with their heated argument what she lacked was the opportunity.

Cecilia looked at the cooling burgundy samples again. There was no reason that her makeshift spectrometer-cum-microscope setup might not still be there at Hogwarts; indeed Snape was able to double-check her findings somehow and if he was doing it by another method, he hadn't told her. Nevertheless her heart felt light, as it had done when she had completed number 29, and this feeling of euphoria had given way to the analysis of the wolfsbane potion again (much to its organic delight).

So Cecilia self-indulgently continued, re-familiarising herself with where she had got to before losing all means of heating it. She re-read her notes and realised the significance of her purchasing several spearmint plants from one of the garden shops in Ambleside the day before; she had intended to add it in place of arrowroot, if she was not very much mistaken.

She dug around in the depths of her mind to recall as much as she could of her manufacture of the wolfsbane potion, which was so very different in construction to potion 30. A higher wavelength and frequency, for a start, which she was seeking to make higher still in order to see whether a slightly altered energy would cause the potion to have different, the desired, effects.

As she de-soiled the spearmint plants, carefully removing the leaves from the stems her mind drifted to what Snape would say if he could see her now, how he would scoff at her idyllic notions of a cure for her beloved and how she would retort that she was doing it scientifically. And then afterwards, her mind fancied, she could hear him counter that she was foolishly and fancifully following her heart…

…the afternoon wore on and she noted the effects of the potion now it had been heated for a time, underlining a page in her book before adding the notes in a sort of code, in purple biro, recording her observations from which ingredients and estimating the analysis. It wasn't as if she was ashamed of what she was doing more that she just wasn't ready to share the results with anyone just yet.

Allowing her fourth variant on the original wolfsbane potion to cool (for which Snape had kindly furnished Cecilia with the recipe), unclamping the neck of the pear-shaped flask before replacing it with the one of the no. 30 bases. The burgundy liquid of no. 30 soon began to bubble like hot wine as Cecilia noted the properties of the cooling wolfsbane potion with purple writing, systematically naming this blend of wolfsbane 4W, before taking a step back as she refocused her mind on her official task in hand.

Back to her proper work. And then, to hand it to Remus, or to Severus if he dropped in to apologise, and hope that this is an improvement on no. 29…

Reaching over to the red radio cassette player, Cecilia flicked the switch, waiting for the crack of the transmission she gazed out of the window, to the mountains and hills in the distance…

"…and the outlook for tomorrow well, much the same as today: dry, with occasional breezes, and in the south of the region possibly a shower or two…"

…Remus would be back soon…Cecilia's mind wandered to that evening, only a couple of hours away and to whether she should be stubborn enough to cook or if she should concede to magic…she could cook, she mused…or at least prepare…warm salad…or sandwiches…

"…and on the M6 southbound, there's a lot of traffic building up now, between Junctions 10 and 8; looks like the rush-hour's starting early…"

Cecilia looked back at the bubbling potion, turning the temperature down on the gas bottl before refocusing on the scene outside…then she glanced down quickly at the 4W on the sideboard, smiling at the dull-grey container…who cares who did the cooking? Who cares if it was done by hand or by magic? The fact that she was on the path to curing her soon-to-be husband of his debilitating condition made her insistence on which of them did what around the house seem trivial and petty…

"…and there's the usual problems with the M25, and the turning off to the M1, compounded by the fact that a lorry has overturned on the inside carriageway heading south towards the Capital…"

…and, being stuck here, with no access to the vast collection of reference books, she hadn't felt too guilty asking Hermione to investigate a few questions in the Hogwarts library for her in the end, namely whether there were incidents of wizards gaining their powers much late in life and, conversely, wizards losing their powers and becoming squibs or muggles…

…Cecilia's mind drifted from her owls she had sent yesterday, congratulating her on her restraint in bothering Hermione to her life with Remus again, wondering how it was she could be so lucky as to have him, after everything that had happened in the last year…

"…and now here's Jackie with the news headlines – "

The sudden absence of the radio broadcast coupled with a familiar voice behind her made Cecilia jump, almost dropping the vial intended for "4W" onto the flagstone floor in her haste to turn and, as she did so, the voice became stern and instructive.

"Cecilia. Put it down now, all of it, and come with me. Now." Snape intoned slowly, his face as inflexible as his tone of voice, a hand on the door handle of the laundry room, opening it into the kitchen.

"Severus!" Cecilia exclaimed, looking down at the vial of "4W", "this is a surprise!" And then looking between the open door and Snape's face, frowned uncomprehendingly, her earlier annoyance at their argument evaporating as she took in his expression…

"_Now_," he insisted, before striding out into the kitchen.

"Severus?" Cecilia followed him into the kitchen, pausing as she watched him go through into the living room and then hurrying after him. "I've been working on No. 30…it's good to see you…what's going – " She broke off as Snape turned back, his face looking murderous, a look she had seen him give Harry a hundred times.

"There's no time for me to answer all of your questions now. You must do as I say. Now. Quickly." Looking about from right to left, he began to rifle through the utility room's old large drawers that sat underneath the work table, seemingly at random.

"Hey!" protested Cecilia as some of the items she had placed on the desk disappeared. "What are you doing, Severus?"

Snape didn't answer. Instead…

"Disapparato!"

Within seconds the cottage's utility room as bare; her work apparatus, glassware, research books, "Magic and Muggles"…all gone…

"What the – _what have you done with my things_?!" Cecilia marched up to Snape, standing shoulder-height, yet what she lacked in height she made up for in accusatory fury.

"They are safe; they are at Hogwarts," Snape intoned, walking away from Cecilia and out into the kitchen. "If they find anything of the research you are doing when they get here the consequences could be dire…your science books…those potions…we must make sure that we leave nothing behind that they can use as evidence against us…get them…everything…"

"But – " she began. Snape said nothing, gesturing only to the potion vial in her hand.

"That too."

"No." Her reply was stubborn and she held onto the vial containing some of "4W" close to her body.

"Dis – "

The shock that Snape would – and could – disapparate something clean out of her hands made Cecilia spill some of it. Potion landed on her clothes as the vial dropped to the floor.

"Scourgify," said Snape quickly, pointing his wand to the mess on the floor. He then turned it to Cecilia. "Tergeo." The potion, which was fast seeping into one of her nicer sweaters, disappeared leaving no trace of her clumsiness. Randomly, Cecilia wished she was able to do that one.

"Move. Quickly." Snape's words were nothing but orders. He turned from Cecilia and strode out into the living room.

"But…" shouted Cecilia after him, now thoroughly lost, "Who…what…?" Snape turned, looking at her up and down.

"You are in grave danger, Cecilia; there is no time for me to explain. Collect any possessions you have."

"No, Severus, wait!" Her voice was clear and strong, and she turned on her assertiveness as he scoured the liing room for anything that looked like her work. "Either tell me what's going on _now_ or leave me alone to find out for myself. Besides, I'm expecting Remus home soon and I don't need you coming into our home and demanding – "

She broke off. Mostly this had something to do with Snape crossing the 1970s-patterned living room carpet and clamping a hand over her mouth. Cecilia froze, more out of what she knew he was capable of if she tried to resist.

"You talk too much, Cecilia…don't question me. Just do it." At his threatening whisper she felt her eyes widen in alarm. Then he broke off, running up the cottage's stairs two at a time.

"What the – !" she exclaimed, before looking around the living room. A couple of books here and there lay about the room as did the DNA traces. She scrabbled around, looking under cushions and behind chairs until she'd retrieved every one of them. Then she went back to the utility room, reaching into the large drawer where she kept everything, grabbing the potion vials and her notebooks before pushing open the door again, balancing most of her clutter on one another as she followed him up the stairs.

It didn't take her more than a second to work out exactly where he was. The sound of scraping wood told her that he was taking more than a fleeting interest with the contents of their bedroom. To her horror most of the chests of drawers were open; their contents spilling out like a laundry explosion. Books and equipment still in her arms she gave Snape an accusing look.

To the credit of the most terrifying wizard next to a Death Eater that you would not like to meet on a dark night Snape ignored her indignation. Instead he disapparated all of the items in her arms leaving her empty-handed and thoroughly confused. Then, Cecilia looked around the room again, resisting the urge to tidy up.

"Alohomora!" declared Snape at one of the drawers that were not open. Cecilia watched in wide-eyed fascination as her nightie and pyjamas, handkerchiefs and the small collection of items given to her by the Order members were suspended in mid-air by Snape who was directing the objects in their defiance of gravity much like an orchestra conductor. The sneakoscope, bequeathed to her by Mad-eye Moody began to glow green as the drawer beneath the one from which it had come rattled.

"Severus…" That was all Cecilia could manage as Snape directed some of her other clothing to fold itself neatly onto the bed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that what he was urging to double over were some of her more intimate apparel. From the drawer above he selected a hairbrush, moving it to the pile of clothing that had come out of the drawers onto the bed before instructing some hair bobbles and a comb to join them.

Then Cecilia watched him open-mouthed as he began to open the next drawer, and that was when she moved. There was no way on God's sweet earth that Snape, no matter what they had been through, was going to sort out her underwear!

"Let me," she insisted, trying to shove past him. He turned, a growl in his throat, much the same noise she recalled him using when she had tried to defy him all those months ago when he had taken his own disguise potion, which had stripped him of his powers before the Great Battle.

"Lupin didn't tell you?" he snarled, blocking her way.

"Lupin didn't tell me what?" Making to push past him again Snape grabbed her wrist, tightening it in his grip until she winced with the pain.

"You would not take my advice to leave this place when I visited last. Now your choices are few. You claim to love him." Cecilia said nothing, but gave him another indignant look as he strode towards the last drawer and raised his wand.

"Alohomora! Accio!" Within seconds the highly embarrassing sight of her underwear in all its glory, or not so glory, crossed the empty space between its former housing and the pile of items on the bed.

"They're personal!" Cecilia declared as Snape began to move them across the bedroom. This had no effect whatsoever, and Cecilia continued crossly, "well, don't tell me why you just turned up here and are running round, demanding things," as she Snape made an attempt to fold her bras using magic. To misdirect her feeling of awkwardness that Snape scrutinising her underwear had brought, she added, "and what do you suppose you're doing with all of those?" She looked around their room as he "accio'd" other things hither and thither. Without warning he turned and raised his wand and, to her horror, cast a spell.

"Immobilus!"

Now, Cecilia could only watch from the silent prison to which Severus Snape had condemned her, shocked, as he packed said clothing into her large bag (that he had clearly found underneath their bed). Throwing open the bottom drawer in the chest he flung out most of it, including a few others of her worldly possessions: the china ballerina that Remus had rescued from her destroyed house in February looked as if it were dancing on its transit to the bag; the photos from the album falling loosely from the pages…her jewellery and muggle money.

She tried to move her mouth and fight the spell and it was worrying that, in her effort to protest, she could neither move it nor the rest of her body. The only part of her that was moving was her lungs, and she took silent breaths as she watched Snape disseminate her clothes and belongings. It was as if she were suspended in really thick treacle or a similar substance too thick to move through.

Cecilia continued to watch inanimately as Snape opened their old teak wardrobe where the rest of her clothing hung. Un-coathangering her clothes he threw these onto the bed before looking at her without a morsel of shame and began to speak to her in much the same tone.

"Cecilia. Much as I have an endearing spot for your discussion we do not have time to discuss everything to which you wish to know the answer. You will have to trust me. We have to leave here…you have to. Any moment now wizards will enter this place to find you and befuddle you. Now, when I mobilise you again, you will do exactly as I say so we have the time to away. Do you understand?"

He looked into her face, and Cecilia stared back: she could do nothing else, but she could feel her pulse racing in her ears, not least because of her ignoble situation and that Snape had dared to hex her into.

"Mobilus" he said simply, before turning back to the matter of her clothes. "Is this all?"

"No, there are some in the drawers, in the wardrobe," she replied. Before she could stop him, he had pulled the drawer from the cabinet and tipped its contents onto the pile on the bed. At the bottom of the drawer, which now became the top, lay an interesting article, one of Cecilia's most treasured possessions. Snape picked it up.

"What's this?" he asked, clearly being able to see what it was.

"The Weasley twins made it for me," replied Cecilia, glancing at the familiar comic stories that they had written in their unique style. "For my birthday." It was something that she thought she'd burned along with other documents in January but as it turned out Dobby had rescued it for her, returning it when she was unconscious in Hogwarts' hospital wing.

"Touching. What a talent they undoubtedly have." Cecilia was about to retort when Snape continued. "What about the books? Do I have all of them now? "Magic and Muggles"?"

" – you disapparated that – "

""Mysterious Mythology"…?"

"Downstairs…" She made to go, but Snape held up a hand.

"Wait – "

A few seconds later the battered volume was drifting up the stairs and he flew it into the bedroom. Remus's book, thought Cecilia urgently. But before she could object Snape had it fly into her bag. Then he turned to the pile of clothes that he had de-wardrobed, gesturing to them stiffly.

"Which of these are the most teacherlike…for a muggle? If you were to teach a muggle class…no, don't ask," he added as he saw Cecilia about to do just that, "…do as I say, Cecilia."

She glanced uncertainly from Snape to her clothes, pulling out a trouser suit and a loose beige blouse obediently.

"These," she replied, holding onto them.

"Luggage," returned Snape, waving his hand in mid air, before filling her large bag with the rest of the clothes. "Now, what I want you to do is – " But Cecilia never got to find out what it was he wanted her to do for his instruction was interrupted by "cracking" sounds, as if wizards were apparating into the living room below them.

"Put them on," he growled as he grabbed the rest of her belongings, a bottle of perfume, a picture frame. "Now," he insisted as Cecilia hesitated. Even if there were dangerous strangers in her house and Snape was threatening to hex her, she was far from happy at undressing in front of him. If he was feeling embarrassed though, he wasn't showing it but somehow must have sensed her hesitation.

"We have to go, Cecilia, there is no time to lose. Members of the ministry are now downstairs and the Headmaster will be shortly joining them. When gets here they are to instruct him to wipe your memory using a memory charm. If he refuses, he will be sent to Azkaban. If you resist they will kill you."

"Why? Why the Professor?" Snape gave her a stern look, but conceded to her nosiness.

"He was the one who allowed you into our world, if they find anything connected to you…to you personally or our work they could find you…come on!" he urged as things below them, in the kitchen, began to shatter on the tiled floor.

"Just put those on!" he declared, storming out of the room. Moments later, as Cecilia was half-dressed and pulling on her trousers she distinctly heard Snape's voice.

"Sectum sempra! Leviocorpus!"

More breaking sounds, of glass again and this time wood. Snape reappeared at the bedroom door, looking at her up and down.

"That should delay them, but not for long."

"Are we going to Hogwarts," said Cecilia as Snape hunted round Remus's bedroom for something unnamed and she reached over into her handbag that hung on the back of the door.

"No…what are you doing…?" He looked at her much as she might have done to a pupil who seemed to have taken an age to get the point of a lesson only to prove her wrong at the last minute. Before she could determine what it was Snape was annoyed at her about, another "crack" echoed up from downstairs.

"Liberacorpus!"

"Leave it!" shouted Snape as Cecilia's efforts to pen a letter to Remus came to an abrupt end. "They are to befuddle you, don't you understand?!"

"They can't do that anyway…I'm engaged to Remus." She made her way swiftly to the dressing table where she made to write. But Snape grabbed her right arm, swinging her towards him.

"The ministry doesn't care about that, not any more. It's Lupin's work with the other werewolves and his breaking of the werewolf code they care about, and the work that you dare to do too." He let go of her arm and Cecilia stooped to get the pen.

"Leave it. We must go now!" He seized her now-packed travel bag as she clung to her open handbag. A noise of wood splintering also reached them as the cuckoo clock, bent on telling all and sundry that it was now five o'clock was destroyed for its effort, its mechanism erupting out of its wooden casing causing a faint comic boingy-spring effect. Another noise, as if the intruders below knew where they were and were doing something about it, echoed across the landing as Percy Weasley thundered up the stairs.

"Colloportus! Cave Inimicum!"

At Snape's words the bedroom door closed with an odd squelching noise, as if the seal on a jar was being replaced. At the furious attempts that the third eldest Weasley was making to open it Snape's second spell seemed to be doing the job.

"They're in here!" he declared, Percy's voice echoing through the thick oak door. "Hurry!" Behind him other people were coming up the stairs shouting for anyone in the bedroom to remain where they were. Cecilia watched in frozen horror as a crackle of yellow light attempted to penetrate the gap underneath the door.

"Hold onto me," instructed Snape, pulling her close to him. "We're going to – "

"Alohomora!"

Cecilia often thought about the moment when she left the cottage for good, long after these events took place. The first feeling was one akin to flooing, where her entire body had succumbed to pins and needles. The image of the room around her, including the door finally being opened seemed to fade like a Monet watercolour, the edges of objects blending together until they were nothing more than a blur. For the onlookers however, many of them wearing official ministry robes, the sight would be far different. The effect was of a disapparating "crack", in fact…

…apparition…

…said to be impossible for a muggle to survive. Not that Cecilia knew what it was she was experiencing…

…two over-riding sensations seemed to be vying for dominance in her psyche, one of nausea-inducing pitching as if she were in an eighteenth-century galleon in full sail trying to round the Horn and the other best described as a 1960s psychedelic trip complete with loud prints and kaleidoscope spirals. Other effects were taking place including several parts of Cecilia's body trying to exist in two planes of reality at the same time and an unnerving feeling that wherever she was she had already been and simultaneously also had never been. Sufficed to say it was a very confusing experience that succeeded to determine that there are reasons that muggles shouldn't travel by apparition and perhaps it is because Cecilia Frobisher had lived in such a highly-charged magical environment for so long that she did not get condensed to a small puddle of goo when they…

…apparated…

It took a while for Cecilia to adapt to her new environment as she continued to cling to Snape's form. At length her surroundings began to take shape, and her eyes rested at first on a couple of terraced houses that were in her direct line of sight. She didn't notice when it was that Snape stepped away from her only that he had done when she heard another voice. Turning shakily she looked at the owner of the voice who turned out to be –

"Cecilia Frobisher," exclaimed a seemingly delighted Mundungus Fletcher. "Oah, my dear, as I live and breeve!" A frown settled over his features mirroring her own look of confusion. "Mundungus Fletcher," he rasped, holding out a large hand of dubious cleanliness. "And i's not the firs' time I've 'ad the pleasure of bein' in charge of ya!"

Cecilia blinked, glancing uncertainly at Snape momentarily before the image of the man who had introduced himself fleeted over her mind and she recalled meeting him momentarily at the Order's Yule Ball. It had to be the same wizard; it wasn't likely that there would be two of them portraying such an unwashed, grimy air with the same sort of mischievous look about him. If he were a muggle he would be skinny and wily-looking, in filthy jeans and a faded blue Arran-knit cardigan, with a flat cap trying to sell cheap foreign rubbish on a market.

"Fletcher, they set you as guard for Mrs Frobisher? After last time?" He turned to look at the him, as did Cecilia and as she did so, the sign portraying the name of the street in which she was standing jumped out at her.

"Promised Dumbledore, di'n't I?" He turned and looked sheepishly at Cecilia. "And beside it's a honna ter be lookin' out for Mrs Frobisher," he continued with admiration in his voice. "What Professor Snape 'ere means is that I 'ad the pleasure once before, yer know." He held out his hand again and Cecilia looked at it uncertainly. "Last year," he continued, "at yer very 'ouse," he whispered, before bowing.

"Just what's going on here?" asked Cecilia weakly. Her mind seemed to have a hive of bees in it trying to get out and thinking was difficult.

"She's here for the back-up plan," intoned Snape matter-of-factly.

"The plan?" he looked confused for a moment, before light dawned. "Oew, the plan!" He tapped his nose, winking at Snape before patting the outside of his robe distractedly.

" – and I've to be gone before I'm missed look, Cecilia – " Snape turned to her suddenly and held her shoulder, "I have no choice. The ministry knows I've been to the cottage and attacked its workers. I can talk my way out of it you – you must hurry. As we speak Auror will be trying to find me, hoping you'll be with me." Cecilia stared back at him blankly. Surely this was some joke. Yes, people had come to the cottage…but she'd be going back to see Remus...she didn't need to hide…

"You've got your book; you know your stuff, I've got the rest and I will get them to you when I can. Be brave – " His face seemed to change as realisation flooded down Cecilia's back like an ice-cold bucket of water and she felt panic begin to build. "Do what you told Black that you would do."

"Thank you," she continued, not knowing what else to say. A few hours ago she was at the cottage having nearly completed what might have been the actual potion that Harry could take to defeat Voldermort. And now she was standing with a bag containing all her possessions next to the wizard version of Del-Boy Trotter having been told by a close friend that she effectively wouldn't be returning to her home.

"You will be contacted; by whom and when I cannot say." Stepping away from Cecilia Snape held his arms close to his side but before he could disapparate she rushed over to him, grabbing his arm before hugging him round the waist. Snape did not hug her back, nor did he look at Fletcher, who was grinning maniacally at them both.

"I must leave you," he intoned, trying to push Cecilia off. She reluctantly stepped back but looked up to him as she fought to contain her emotions.

"Tell him, Severus," she begged, picturing Remus's confused and miserable face when he returned to the cottage. "Promise me…"

"What do you want me to tell him?" Snape's voice became suddenly cold and Cecilia stepped back out of the full force of the bitter winter that he had created between them.

"That I had no choice in it," she snapped back. Then there was a look between them, conveying both trust and betrayal, hope and fear. It lasted seconds but felt like millennia. Snape disapparated with a crack as Cecilia ran towards him again. Like a mere shadow falling away she realised she was reaching for…nothing.

"The science…!" she declared loudly to an empty street but no-one except a stray border collie that was trotting along the pavement of the road opposite paid any attention.

"This is where I take over, innit?" Fletcher ambled over from his position next to the wall, making to take her hand but Cecilia shook it away insistently.

"The science," she whispered, her body sagging at the shoulder and she looked at Mundungus Fletcher dejectedly.

"Up to 'im now, Mrs Frobisher." He reached out a grubby hand and put it on her shoulder. With the other he pointed across the road. Cecilia followed his gesture and followed him round the corner as he stabbed a finger in the direction of a house.

Modern and sterile the house stood in a street full of detached brick houses of the sort that Tim used to describe as being made from Lego, trying to be as different as they possibly could be while being identical at the same time.

"Over there…" Fletcher pointed to a house that looked pretty much like any of the other ones in the street. "Number 4." Cecilia looked across to number 4, back to Mundungus and then to the sign next to him.

Privet Drive.

"Number 4, Privet Drive," repeated Cecilia slowly as the realisation of where she was began to sink in."

"'s right," nodded Fletcher, grinning toothily at her. "That lad 'as lives there, someone's coming who's for 'im. They won't stay, though." He followed the progress of a smartly-dressed woman who was about to knock on the door. Cecilia watched, mouth ajar as she paused, shaking her head as if she had forgotten why she was there (which, of course, she had) sure enough the woman had stayed only moments before walking away again as quickly as she had arrived.

"Harry's aunt and uncle," said Cecilia, a statement of fact with no emotion in it. Mundungus grinned again.

"They told me you was smart," he nodded. "An' you got me watchin' over you well, not just me. But you're to keep your head down, what wiv the ministry wantin' yer, and havin' nearly found yer. No better hiding place – 'ere, you don't look so well…" He looked at Cecilia, who had turned quite pale.

"I'm fine," lied Cecilia as a feeling of nausea swept over her. Hand to her stomach she managed a weak grimace as she reached for the wall. Instead of the cold brick she felt Fetcher take her arm instead.

"Well, you don't look it," he said, as the feeling finally passed.

"Probably the apparition," said Cecilia as her head returned to normal, glancing at Privet Drive again.

"'e apparated you?" said Mundungus, letting go her arm and looking confused. "But…but…you are a muggle, right?" Cecilia nodded.

"So, what am I supposed to be doing? Why didn't Severus bother to stay behind?"

"'e cou'n't, see? He knew the ministry was on ter him. They're probably questionin' 'im now. If 'e'd've stayed then they would have caught yeh. Took an awful risk. He told me to tell you that you'll know what to do." Tapping his pockets and robe Fletcher finally pulled out a piece of parchment. "'ere," he added, handing it to her. "This'll explain it he handed her a note. Don' be too long with it…it'll burn, see." Taking a few steps away from Cecilia as she quickly began to open up the note Mundungus Fletcher pulled out his wand.

"Look, gotta go," he added. Cecilia looked up, the letter still unopened, with panic in her eyes. But before she could ask him not to go, he'd added, "got to see a man about some cauldrons." And with a flick of his wand the least trustworthy member of the Order of the Phoenix stood no longer on the pavement of Privet Drive.

"Wait – ! " Her terminated sentence hung in the air as she compelled nobody not to disapparate. Glancing down at the letter it dawned on Cecilia that standing on the corner of a cul-de-sac on a bright summer's evening was probably a very stupid thing to be doing and she walked back round the corner, back into view of number 4, bag in hand, trying to get her head round what had happened…

…Snape had taken her away from the cottage…with her things…there were intruders from the ministry who were looking for her…to befuddle her…

She tore open the note…

It didn't tell her anything different, only that it appeared to be a note not from Snape but from Dumbledore telling her what was happening, what she would be doing and that this was the back up plan. She was to remain at 4, Privet Drive until someone fetched her and that only he, Snape and Fletcher knew where she was.

Staring at the empty space where the burning letter had been, Cecilia breathed in and out, trying to get away from the idea that not only was Remus not only not with her but didn't know where she actually was and whether he was going to be all right…if the intruders smashed up the house, he would be devastated…

…the last sentence transformed into the words "he will know you are safe" and she breathed a little easier as the top right corner began to smoulder. Cecilia dropped the letter onto the pavement where it was now well alight and, luggage in hand, strode towards number 4, Privet Drive, slipping on her teacher persona as she went…

…and knocked on the door…

A very thin necked woman craned her head through the narrow parting she had made between the door and the doorframe. She eyed Cecilia with suspicion; her dark wavy hair blowing a little in the slight breeze that blew up the street. Cecilia beamed a smile and held out a hand.

"Good evening. My name's Miss Wells. The tutor for your son? I believe you are expecting me."

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A/N: Del-Boy Trotter is the main character from the BBC TV series "Only Fools and Horses" which had its heyday in the 1980s. I've always imagined Mundungus Fletcher's to be like him in persona: dodgy dealing and salt of the earth.


	13. Nest of Vipers

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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She could still hear the ringing in her ears. The mocking chants as she scurried from the classroom ten minutes' early. Admittedly it wasn't all of them but she was sure they shared the same sentiment.

It had been three days, three disastrous days since she had begun to teach but Tabitha Penwright knew within the first hour that she hated being a teacher.

Sitting in her room she looked at the cover of the curriculum that Umbridge had given to her before holding her head in her hands. Why had they behaved like that? Why had all of them turned against her? She'd done everything that Umbridge had told her to do; she had been strong with them, punishing them for the slightest misdemeanour; she had illuminated passages in the book that the students were to copy. She'd clamped down on any speaking during lessons.

A noise, the sound of people chatting quietly as they passed by her room made Tabitha freeze. Probably some of the other teachers, she thought, after a moment. Not students come to taunt her again.

Without warning the calls that she had heard as she had left the muggle studies classroom echoed silently in her head…

…"Fro-bi-sher! Fro-bi-sher! Give us Frobisher!"…

Tabitha got up and hurried across the flagstone floor to her bedroom door, checking it was locked before sealing it with magic from the inside. Just to be sure, she told herself; she didn't want to be Professor Sinistra on whom girls in her dorm had played japes and pranks when she had been at school.

Shaking her head slowly Tabitha tried to put the disaster that had been her day at the front of a class and turned instead to the urgent owl that had arrived for her that afternoon. She didn't know which was worse: teaching lessons or reading the letter from Umbridge and Tabitha sighed as she scanned the page.

It was dreadful: Umbridge's tyrannical rule in absentia did not stop with just the teachers and their new curriculum and the students. She wanted Tabitha to inform Dumbledore that the ghosts had to be restrained from every part of the castle with the exception of the dungeons and in addition for each society and club that was run in the school grounds (quidditch, gobstones, wizard's chess to name but three) Tabitha was to submit the students names and ages.

Sighing deeply she folded the letter up and put it in her pocket. If this is what she had to do then she'd better get on with it, thought Tabitha dully. But _she_ would have a hard time persuading many of the students or staff of this; to her this was what Dolores Umbridge did but on a far grander scale. She knew she had to enforce the decrees of her boss lest face a barrage of hectoring from her.

Getting up from the chair before the desk, Tabitha considered the last sentence of Umbridge's letter. Tomorrow she would visit to view one of Tabitha's lessons. She wanted to see, "how well the students had engaged with their proper method of teaching". She might as well not bother, thought Tabitha as she made her way to the bathroom; she – Tabitha – could just as well tell her that her new curriculum had gone down like a lead dragon, and not just with muggle studies. Other staff, she had noticed, seemed to be pretty much ignoring most of it save a few passing references to it; yesterday she had clearly heard a potions lesson being taught by Severus Snape, carried on the breeze of the teaching corridor, which was definitely not one prescribed for the subject.

Well, Tabitha concluded, she would just have to put some more effort in. What these children seemed to know was next to useless; what they had been taught by Cecilia Frobisher was all a great deal of nonsense which would not help them one slightest bit in their OWL examination or for their future. She had said as much to the fifth years in their first lesson and managed to acquire one detainee who had dared to argue with her. Harry Potter, she thought grimly as the face of the boy in detention ambled into her mind. _He_ was the cause of this insidious sedition.

"Tempe Aqua," said Tabitha simply as she stood next to the edge of the sunken bath, holding her wand towards it. At once from the end of her wand warmish water began to pour, filling the vessel with it. Warm water, thought Tabitha. So that's what I'm reduced to now I'm here. Unable to do even a few of the basic spells that she could in the privacy of her own home. She had expected a few of her powers to fade or become less powerful but Tabitha hadn't counted on the degree to which her return to Hogwarts would have on her abilities.

Half an hour later she had taken the initiative of undoing the doors of her room and straying into the staff room at the end of the corridor, the room in which she had had her first introduction to the rest of the staff just over a week ago. Usually the place was deserted and Tabitha had taken to writing her daily reports to Umbridge in the quiet confines of its wood-panelling or simply just sitting there trying to convince herself that the lesson that she had just presented wasn't as bad as she had imagined. On this occasion however, as she turned the handle of the thick oak door Tabitha was rather surprised that Severus Snape was sitting in one of the armchairs reading what looked to be like bound journal.

She looked at him once or twice; when she was entering he did not look up from his reading and when she was quite sure that he was not about to speak to her she made her way to the opposite corner, sitting by the fireplace and trying to fix her mind on her task in hand and banishing all thoughts of her early morning run-in with him where he had bitten her head off in front of the third year class that she was about to teach. Not that she had bitten back, of course and it had occurred to Tabitha then that he not been expecting that. Now, no-one was around and maybe _she_ could raise the subject of when they were to collaborate over this Universal Link.

The fire in the fireplace felt warm on her legs. Despite the day being a warm one the Tabitha had forgotten how the stone of the castle seemed to bar much of any outdoor heat in the same way that it beguiled the cold to linger. Soon she would be using the fireplace to send her daily report to Umbridge including the club and society information as well as the house-elf details and the owl tally from the –

"What are you doing here?" Snape's stone-hard voice rudely interrupted her train of thought spilling goods hither and thither into the recesses of her mind. Looking up sharply Tabitha willed herself to give him the most withering look she could manage.

"Finished teaching," she replied before looking down as the papers she had in her hand and pretending that she had more important things to do than engage him in unrewarding conversation.

"No," he replied, closing his reading matter and glaring at her steelily, "here, as in Hogwarts, a wizard school in which you have no skill or expertise. Why are you deemed fit to teach muggle studies?"

Glaring back with as much forthright confidence as she could muster Tabitha folded her hands on top of the papers she was scrutinising and leaned back a little, deliberately pausing (and gathering her thoughts at the same time).

"This is my job. I work for the ministry for the good of all wizards."

"Your lessons are appalling. I knew that you were not a teacher and that is compounded by your uselessness at even basic discipline. Your magic is awful. The chanting with which the fifth years have taken to is enough to drive my flobberworms insane. Even I could teach that subject despite its infinitesimally low status in comparison to the rest of the subjects our school offers – " he paused momentarily, " – Divination excepted."

"Then _you_ teach it," replied Tabitha with faux confidence, burying the reference to the shameful experience that afternoon deep enough to be mourned later. "It is clear I need to develop my professional repertoire. I would be only too happy to learn from a person with more experience than myself – " The expression on Snape's face would have been enough to curdle milk. " – we are supposed to be collaborating, are we not?"

"Indeed," Snape bit back. And then he did something that Tabitha did not expect. He began to describe the teaching the students had hitherto enjoyed. Sitting diametrically opposite Severus Snape as he detailed not only the type and content but also the construction and format Tabitha listened carefully to his contemptuous discourse. On finishing he remained stony-still, his book still on his knees and were Tabitha not to know difference she might have believed she was at the beginning of the conversation, before she had heard these fantastic things.

"Are you telling me there's no limit to muggles?" said Tabitha slowly, after a time. "That they are basically like us?"

"Do you know Cecilia Frobisher?" he replied quickly.

"Only that I know she was my predecessor she was a muggle herself, wasn't she?" Despite his flint-like exterior a flicker passed momentarily over his features.

"Indeed she was," he intoned impassively. And then he opened up the book he had been reading hitherto Tabitha's presence in the staff room. Just as she assumed the conversation was over, he added with a glower, "Muggles are not what we think."

"You have come to this conclusion based on one muggle," replied Tabitha as her mind dwelt on her brother. They were all similar (even if Robert was loath to admit it) but there were many differences, not least in their point of view. At least wizards had the opportunity to see both sides even if they didn't always use it. And she had known far more muggles than Severus Snape! When she realised he was still staring at her Tabitha added, "she is only one; others may not be like her. We know this through those long and bitter years where they let us down over and over again."

"That's not how muggles interpret it."

"Of course it's not, and that's the point, isn't it?"

"What…is the point?" Snape's voice took on a threatening edge.

"We have known for _decades_ that we need energy for magic; you only had to ask at the Ministry or us Mysteriours at any rate. And it's rather mugglish to interpret it all for their benefit, don't you think?"

"…and your work?"

"I have been instructed to work with you to rediscover what Cecilia Frobisher discovered and that was subsequently lost – " Tabitha broke off as Snape moved ominously towards her and she felt a surge of terror erupt in her stomach.

"Here." Standing over her Snape brandished what turned out to be a sheet of blank parchment. "Do you have a quill?" Wordlessly Tabitha nodded.

"Take this down." He walked away from her as a serpent might before its prey.

"Why?" she managed. He turned and stared at her, eyes narrowing.

"You need to start on the long road that the previous muggle studies teacher began. Due to a disaster on the night of the Great Battle, the details of which I am sure you are familiar as you are from the _ministry_," he snorted contemptuously, "we have no information. And this is apparently important to you."

"I have already spoken to Harry Potter; the information he provided for me seems most enlightening." Snape snorted again. Tabitha ignored it, before sighing as the name of Cecilia Frobisher was thrown around in her mind again by mocking students. "How do you do it? Teaching, I mean?"

"It is a common feeling, to hate teaching." From the position he had reached, opposite Tabitha and adjacent the fireplace Snape narrowed his eyes still further. "Tell me, Miss Penwright, if you were not here when, pondering the mysteries of the universe, what kind of dull and uninteresting desk job would you be doing in the Ministry?"

"Pondering the mysteries of the universe," she replied steadily, "I am a Mysteriour, after all."

"I see. So you uncover great secrets for the good of all wizardkind?"

"Something like that," nodded Tabitha.

"Then I'll make you a promise. I will tell you all there is to know about the Universal Link, how it relates to wizards and muggles and how the whole of humanity is connected, you can take it back to Dolores Umbridge and she can do what she will for it." Tabitha held her breath, waiting for Snape to continue. "I will tell you all about the Link if you tell me all there is to know about your mystery – what is it, Miss Granger?"

Tabitha jerked her head right and exhaled, staring at the student who had silently pushed open the staff room door without knocking.

"P – Professor," she began, looking back at Tabitha apprehensively before training a well-practised look on Snape. "Would it be possible to speak to you in private? Out here?" she clarified when Snape said nothing.

"Naturally your question is to do with potions, and to do with the lateness of an essay," he presumed, making his way towards the door, the book he had been reading held stiffly by his right-hand side as if a shield between him and Tabitha.

As the door clicked into place, Tabitha breathed. She sat back down by the fire before leaping back up and seizing her notes in her hand. Was she to take his offer seriously? Did he mean what he said? Was Severus Snape, the most intimidating teacher Hogwarts had to offer, about to let her in on the secret that Dumbledore had instructed Cecilia Frobisher to investigate?

She wouldn't have to wait long to find out. A few moments later, having presumably dismissed the student, Snape re-entered the staffroom, closing the oak door heavily.

"You were saying…?" prompted Tabitha, hoping she had waited long enough not to sound desperate.

"I was saying what?" asked Snape, his voice slow and deliberate, hand on the knob of the door. "Nothing of consequence, surely?" Tabitha could feel her heartbeat rising slowly and irritation that had stirred with her thinking of her brother began to stir her. She got back to her feet.

"I was granted permission by Professor Dumbledore to have full access to the work surrounding and including information of the Universal Link!"

"Well, I have none," said Snape simply, opening the door to the teachers' quarters corridor and looking down it. "And regardless of what Mr. Potter tells you neither does he."

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"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Cecilia Frobisher had nodded as she sat on the chintz-print settee that was part of a three piece suite in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. Mrs Dursley, who had introduced herself to Cecilia as such, had shown her into the living room and invited her to sit, explaining to Cecilia their reasons for needing a tutor, that despite her husband's assurance that the school they had sent their son to was excellent it had been noted in his school report that he was unlikely to achieve any GCSEs and that would not do and that he would be home in the evenings for a few hours each night and each weekend to enable him to focus on his studies.

"So that is where you come in, Miss Wells," Mrs Dursley concluded. "I expect nothing less than the fifteen he is expecting and from your marvellous references and experience on your CV – " momentarily Petunia Dursley's brow wrinkled as if she was trying to remember something at the very back of her memory, " – you appear to be an excellent choice."

From the open-plan kitchen diagonally opposite the living room Cecilia heard Mrs Dursley clinking a few cups onto their saucers and she broke off from her racing thoughts. A tutor. They were expecting a tutor as Dumbledore had described in his now-extinct letter whose ashes were gracing the pavement outside. Cecilia gazed out of the window, her heart beginning to hammer beneath her ribs as she recalled what else the letter had instructed. Not to make any attempts to contact neither the wizard world nor her family in the muggle world. That if she was reading this note then the Order member had taken her to pre-arranged place of safety which she should not leave. And in addition the task she had to do was to tutor the child which, he believed she would do perfectly well and, as it was her cover, she should not stray from even when she realised her position of advantage.

"Biscuit?" asked Petunia Dursley, approaching Cecilia's right and proffering the tea.

Ten minutes later as Cecilia sipped the milk-ruined beverage and politely declined a Nice biscuit she listened as a concerned mother explained that though it was up to the school to teach Dudley, that was what they were paying them for after all, she could not let her son leave with no qualifications even if he was going to begin at his father's work for they were beginning to despair of his lack of application. Dudley would be home on Friday for the weekend, which should give her a chance to prepare suitable work for him, and every subsequent evening leading up to his examinations and, as a tutor, it was up to her to bring her son's hidden brilliance to the fore.

Their discussion wove on, through a second top-up and a second refusal of a biscuit and it became apparent that Dudley Dursley's parents were not under any illusions that their son would achieve highly but, as Mrs Dursley explained adoringly, it was what was inside that counted.

Then Mrs Dursley took the teacup and saucer from Cecilia and got to her feet, telling her that she must be tired having travelled such a long way from the Midlands, and that she was going to show her to her room, Dudley's second bedroom. Talking with her belongings Mrs Dursley had went on to comment as she neared the top of the staircase that her nephew sometimes used it when he was back from school and the jolt of realisation hit her as it dawned on Cecilia where she was. This was the house beside whose door where Harry Potter had been left as a year-old baby to be cared for by his uncaring aunt and uncle. Mrs Dursley opened the door to Harry's room, holding it open and Cecilia carried her large bag in, trying not to stare too pointedly at her hair.

That had been two days ago. Two days since she sat on the single bed trying not to think how strange it was to be at the Dursley's house as she massaged her head aching, most probably caused by the illicit apparition that Snape had conjured and wondering whether Remus, her beloved Remus, knew of the events that had happened at the cottage.

She had sat on Harry's bed for a long time, trying to come to terms with what had happened that afternoon, very little of which was making much sense before Mrs Dursley had called her down for supper when Mr Dursley had arrived home and had to endure an evening spent listening to how wonderful their son was interspersed with quite personal questions once Vernon Dursley had established that she had once been a scientist.

"A very clever subject," he commented, gravy from his steak and kidney pudding dripping onto his beard. "I once knew a scientist, many years ago…tell me, Miss Wells, do you still work in science?"

"Not any more," Cecilia had replied, wondering whether the Dursleys had even considered what she did if they were employing her as a tutor. "I teach."

"Ah," said Mr Dursley, pushing a large piece of pie into his mouth, "you pass the flame on…very noble." And he had stroked her shoulder, winking at Cecilia in quite a revolting way before continuing to demolish the rest of Mrs Dursley's home-cooked dinner.

…two days ago since the Snape's arrival at the cottage had replayed itself constantly though her mind and she had cried herself to sleep…

The next day Mrs Dursley had asked her to list the books she would need to buy for Dudley and when Cecilia asked to see what books he had actually got the small shelf in his room would have actually been improved in terms of educational value were each of them to have been improved. The list was long but the woman had been true to her word and acquired each and every one of them.

As Cecilia had waited for Mrs Dursley to return from town Cecilia had switched on the television, realising that it was probably going to be quite nice to watch a programme, which she hadn't done for almost a year. Another muggle advantage (as well as the lack of flying objects and people apparating into her living room and scaring the living daylights out of her) that she would easily get used to. She had felt her mind relax filling in the gap where her heightened anxiety had sat with thoughts of Petunia Dursley…Aunt Petunia, whose DNA she had seen in the form of a trace so many, many times whilst fathoming out first the Universal Link, Harry's potion and the current refinement, and whose genes betrayed rather more than the muggle exterior that she so happily displayed.

And now, waiting for Mr Dursley to arrive home again, this time with their son in tow, her stomach began to twist and turn as it had done ever since she had got to 4, Privet Drive. Her emotions were stretched with each knock at the door, at first soaring from euphoria that at last someone had come to fetch her and take her back to the cottage. Each time her elation gave way to despair as the milkman, gasman and gardener had all made an appearance. Now, minutes from her first meeting with a child she potentially had to educate for goodness' knows how long Cecilia realised she tried to squash her feeling of nausea and dizziness, focusing on the fact that she would just have to make the best of it in her role.

"You look a bit peaky, Miss Wells," replied Mrs Dursley, looking at the books, notebooks and stationary that she had spent a small fortune on and had laid out lovingly on the coffee table. Cecilia nodded and smiled weakly.

"A bit tired," she murmured, holding onto yet another cup of tea that Mrs Dursley had poured for her that day.

"We are very lucky to have someone to tutor him for all his subjects; he will be on study leave within a couple of weeks anyway, so that will give you more time with him. His teachers have predicted he will pass none of his examinations – " she laughed lightly, glancing at the exercise books that Cecilia had on her knee, "but I am sure you agree that he is misunderstood, and with your expertise he can turn this around. He wants to go to University and become a doctor," she added, passing Cecilia a plate of biscuits. Taking one and eating it slowly she had discovered meant that more were not offered to you as frequently as when you refused one altogether and she tried not to choke on the crumbs.

"So, you're not married, Miss Wells?" Mrs Dursley had asked Cecilia this each evening since she had got there, and each time she had given the same answer. It was as if Petunia Dursley could engage in small talk like the best of them but when she received the answer it did not complete the circuit back round to her ears. Cecilia tried not to sigh as she prepared to give the same answer as she had done the evening before and the one before that.

"No," she replied, nibbling on the Lincoln biscuit, "I used to be, but my husband died. I'm engaged, though. We're getting married once…"

" – once you've got a bit of money together," said Petunia presumptively, looking out of the window as a car passed before looking back at Cecilia when she realised it wasn't Mr Dursley and Dudley. "Well I never worked; Vernon provides for me you see, but I think it is admirable that you wish to contribute; so many single mothers out there that do nothing but scrounge on benefits." She reached for the teapot from the tray on the occasional table (once the smallest of the nest by the window) and topped up Cecilia's tea without bothering to ask her whether she wanted more.

"Single mothers?"

"You don't have to fool me dear," she continued, smiling a knowing smile at Cecilia. "I know these things…I did with my sister ooh!" Petunia broke off with delight from her otherwise serious conversation as she realised that now indeed her husband and son had arrived home. She scrambled to her feet, taking Cecilia's cup out of her hands and returning the tray to the kitchen before hurrying to the front door and opening it for them.

Cecilia heard Mr Dursley enter the house first, his large frame plodding onto the carpet as he strode into the living room, saying nothing to Cecilia but sitting down on the settee and Cecilia waited as Dudley Dursley entered the living room. She didn't have to wait long and she felt him before she saw him; Dudley's disgust at being brought from boarding school he took out against the door which he slammed into the back of the chair that Cecilia was sitting in. Jolting her to the expression on her face seemed to be enough for Vernon Dursley to turn on his son.

"Apologise. Now!" he ordered, gesturing towards Cecilia. "You nearly injured Miss Wells!" A younger version of Mr Dursley wearing the expression that his mother had worn when she had opened the door to Cecilia a couple of days ago glowered at her teenager-like.

"No," he refused, taking his eyes off her momentarily before scanning the contents of the coffee table critically. "I didn't ask her to come here. _I_ should still be at _school_!"

"How dare you!" Mr Dursley leaped out of his seat like a scalded cat, wagging his finger at Dudley. "After what you've been up to at school…Mr. Terrell called me at work, don'tcha know! Fighting?! Bunking off?! Hanging round with the wrong sort?! And then he tells me that you have very little chance of getting any qualifications at all! What are we paying all this money for, eh? _Eh?_" Cecilia watched as Vernon Dursley's face became redder and redder, betraying his inner fury. Petunia Dursley meanwhile had made a bee-line to her son, standing next to him and whimpering every so often as Mr Dursley's rage grew more intense.

"I think you ought to apologise to Miss Wells, Popkin," said Mrs Dursley soothingly, gesturing an arm towards Cecilia. "She is here to help you my darling, look: she's brought you some interesting books to help you get started." Dudley turned from his mother and returned Cecilia's small smile with a glower that she would come to recognise well in the future. 

"Sorry," he spat, glancing rebelliously at his father.

"Now, get yourself upstairs, sweetheart," continued Petunia as Dudley continued to scowl at his father. "There's a bath run, and I've a dinner in the oven." She looked between her husband and son. "It'll be just like when you were younger, before Smeltings," she added, a homely reminder designed to pacify.

"Yeah? Is my stupid cousin here or something?"

And from thereon in Cecilia's disguise was complete. That weekend, under the watchful eye of Mr Dursley and the simpering servitude of Mrs Dursley Dudley Dursley began his work programme as devised by Miss Wells: teacher, tutor and on-the-run muggle. It was to continue each evening, when Mr Dursley brought Dudley back from Smeltings, only to return him early the next morning and it became apparent that, while they expected Cecilia to teach him for four or five hours each evening the rest of the time was hers. And it was also painfully obvious that Miss Cecilia Wells could have been teaching their son anything, trusting her implicitly with the education for their son, a point not missed by a distraught Cecilia who was now living with a woman whose whole existence down to her very chromosomes might be the very answer she was looking for.

She wished she knew how long she was to be here…wished she could contact him, Remus…her beloved Remus. But Cecilia knew that around her were forces more powerful than she, with her solitude in the muggle world, could know or tell. She knew she had to wait it out and hope that it would be soon, so very soon that someone came.

Lying in bed so late on Sunday evening that it was Monday morning Cecilia mobilised her hopes in order to banish her longings from her mind and focused on Severus. He would tell Remus, of that she was sure. And it was better, much better to be apart from him than not to remember him for the rest of her life, as would be her fate under the Ministry.

It was Monday morning. Four, nearly five days in hiding. And hours, countless hours where she could focus on both her potion for Remus and the one for Harry. Indeed, the connection, she was sure, ran Number 4 Privet Drive's household on a daily basis and even without any materials whatsoever save "Mysterious Mythology" she could make use of the opportunity available. Besides, constructing a tuition plan for Dudley would not take more than about ten minutes so she needed to justify her time in Privet Drive and at would least take her mind of the situation.

Sitting up in bed before getting out of it, then sitting herself on a wooden chair in front of the desk Cecilia pulled open one of the drawers locating a pen and a few scraps of notebook paper.

"The Universal Link", (she wrote) "discovered by C.J. Frobisher and S.S. Snape."

She was…Cecilia Jane Frobisher, working on the refinement to Harry Potter's potion, sitting in his bedroom and cut off from the world.

She was back.

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It was Monday evening. Another detention. That made the third one since the start of term, the third one for disrupting a lesson. A third one with Penwright. And it just wasn't fair.

He sat alone in the muggle studies classroom, the evening sunlight glinting down the teaching corridor and playing mischievously on the door's window panes complementing the distant roars, groans and cheers that was the Gryffindor quidditch team practising for their forthcoming Hufflepuff match.

Gritting his teeth Harry turned back to the task in hand, namely copying copiously from numerous chapters in their thick textbook, irrelevant and useless chapters which went against everything he knew to be true of muggles…everything they all knew. However it had been Harry who had been foolish enough to say so.

On his first detention last Wednesday, their first day back, Professor Penwright had, instead of formal detention work, insisted on asking him questions about himself, his life and his work with Cecilia Frobisher. As much as he wanted to herald Mrs Frobisher's success and popularity juxtaposed to that of her own it had taken much willpower to stick to the misleading information that Snape instructed him to acquaint her with. It wasn't that difficult to withhold personal details; while Penwright could possibly find out much of the information without actually asking him, therefore negating Harry's necessity to mislead her.

But the fact was her manner was ineloquent and lacked the warmth of Mrs Frobisher's way and as such he had been averse to discuss anything much of consequence. What little he did share were details of the potion he had taken on the night of the Great Battle and Professor Penwright sat in awed fascination, hunched and small, fading almost into the walls and he had later discussed it with Ron and Hermione, about how his spells, once flawless, were sometimes off even now.

Ron had dismissed it as a side-effect but Hermione had taken an interest and when he discussed with them after his second evening of detention on Saturday night her interest had been elsewhere (and consequently so had his), so his need to share his concerns over a migraine that he had suffered since Wednesday and discomfort in his forehead worryingly close to his scar had to be contained. He had sought an explanation from Ron for Hermione's behaviour but he had none to offer, guessing that it was the stress of the exams.

Looking back down at the paper again he read the sentence out again as another cheer reverberated down the teaching corridor, ending with a rousing chorus of "Weasley is our King", trying to ignore it.

"A muggle can go about his or her life from birth until death without ever encountering the wizard world. Muggles are ignorant of the world unless it concerns them directly and when they do encounter the wizard world they do their very best to put it down to chance, coincidence or temporary disbelief. This is why, for the last two hundred years muggles have been considered under wizard law to have nominal existence rights and therefore are protected."

Harry shook his head dully and put down his quill in disgust. Whoever had written this nonsense clearly had never met a muggle, or at least, had never met Mrs Frobisher and he wondered vaguely whether the textbook, though claiming to be written by a A. Nonne, might actually have been written by Professor Penwright. She couldn't blame them for chanting, hoping and wishing for Mrs Frobisher to return…surely she knew how dreadful she was?

Not for the first time did Harry regret his behaviour towards Cecilia Frobisher, and further, wishing she was here to talk to. There was so much confusion, so much he had to deal with, not least in attempting to gain at least some qualifications that might lead him into a job as an Auror and he considered again whether he should write to her. Once before he had written to Cecilia Frobisher not long after she had left with Lupin but were he to write tonight his letter would conveyed more a feeling of confusion, anger and weakness, totally unlike the upbeat, confident and happy missive he had quilled to her all those months ago.

He looked down at his parchment again, still barren of information that should have been upon it and frowned. Hermione had written to her quite recently and received a reply. If she could then why not he? Okay, Snape had told her she had put Mrs Frobisher in grave danger by communing information to her but then he was always saying things like that, reminding Hermione of her decision to help Cecilia almost fatally on the night of the Great Battle. And all Hermione had done was gone last Friday to ask for his advice.

Turning back to the textbook again Harry looked in despair at the drivel he was expected to transcribe, flicking over a couple of pages before turning back to it again. Pen in hand, he began to write.

88888888

"Now, before I begin I must first read out the apologies for those who cannot be with us this evening."

Minerva McGonagall looked resignedly at the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Five days had passed since the attack on Mrs and Miss Frobisher and the Ministry raid on Lupin's home. Five days since Cecilia Frobisher disappeared without a trace and the entire Order in turmoil, risking detection with the Ministry and disruption at Hogwarts and she had taken her concerns to Albus who had listened to her carefully before calling on her to take the Order meeting on Saturday evening before leaving the running of the school in her care as well.

"Miss – er, that is to say, Mrs Smith – " she continued as half of the wizards and witches before her frowned and whispered in perplexed confusion.

"She means Tonks," growled Moody from his position near Number 12, Grimmauld Place's fireplace. Minerva nodded at Mad-eye in thanks before returning to her apologees.

"Indeed, indeed," she confirmed. "She is temporary guardian with her husband of the muggle child Freya Mitchell, a situation – "

"So it's true!" gasped Doris Crockwood, her hand to her mouth, looking at Mrs Weasley in horror who nodded slowly.

"What?"

"They died at the hands of Death Eaters?"

"Cecilia's mother and sister?" Molly Weasley nodded.

"But there were no marks upon them from a wizard," interrupted Bathsheba loudly. "So we, and the ministry, have to assume that they were killed by a muggle or muggles unknown."

"…how awful…"

"…does Cecilia know…?" Arthur Weasley shook his head.

"…she is missing, as well we know…"

"…I think the girl should be with her…"

"…_that's_ debateable…"

" – a situation," repeated Minerva insistently as she tried to regain control of the undercurrent of noise that had transformed into an overcurrent as many of the Order continued to discuss the issue, "that will discuss in our meeting."

"With respect Minerva," said Sturgis Podmore, his moustache wrinkling uncertainly, "Dumbledore. No-one knows where he is, do they?"

Minerva sighed. Technically what Sturgis had said was true and the consequences of his absence from Hogwarts meant she had been under pressure that weekend mainly through acting as a bulwark between many of the students and the new curriculum, via the new curriculum's ambassador Tabitha Penwright.

"She doesn't look well," whispered Sirius from his position by the staircase to Snape, who had approached him a few minutes before the Order meeting began to share information that would become common knowledge. Sirius had wondered why he had stopped him but the news Snape had broken was very serious indeed. Snape nodded in agreement before stepping away from Sirius and striding towards Minerva as she called upon him to enlighten them all.

"As you all know, as the head of our Order Dumbledore has undertaken a grave damage-limitation scheme so that the following things can take place. Many of you are aware that we are still in the process of refining the potion that Harry Potter will consume in our strategy to defeat the Dark Lord. The potion is entirely in my possession, though Mrs Frobisher will eventually recommence her contribution to – "

"Where is Cecilia, can you tell us that, Snape?" Bathsheba Braddle voiced the unspoken question of many, interrupting him abruptly. Severus Snape bathed her in distain.

"Indeed," he intoned, looking at the Order stiffly. "Mrs Frobisher, as has been previously discussed, was made wizard enemy number one. Her location was discovered last Wednesday and they found too that the Headmaster did not, as he had otherwise inferred, befuddle her. A back-up plan formulated by Professor Dumbledore was put into place and Mrs Frobisher was moved to a secure location – "

– a "crack" in the hallway indicated that other wizards had arrived and all heads with the exception of Snape turned towards the now-opening door –

" – for which I am the secret keeper – " Now Snape broke off and looked at the latecomers, one of which said nothing but stared at Snape intently as he took a chair to Snape's left. Sirius moved across to Remus Lupin, who barely acknowledged his friend.

"Do continue Severus," said Dumbledore serenely, looking between him and the seated Lupin. "We do apologise for being so late and we do need to catch up with the proceedings." Next to Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore conjured a chair into existence that looked suspiciously like the one out of his portable office and sat next to his Deputy, waiting keenly for Snape to proceed. The latter nodded to Dumbledore deferentially before continuing.

"As I was saying, the secret-keeper for Mrs Frobisher – "

"Why?" asked Bathsheba, inciting Snape's stony wrath again. He paused, waiting for the inevitable addition to the sentence that he was sure many of them were mentally adding to Bathsheba's question, but when the word "you" did not materialise he continued.

"Under the Muggle Protection Act 1956 the Ministry can't legally pursue her now. The trace on her that was originally placed will be cease to have any function under their own rules, so when she is back in muggle society – "

"We are to guess that's where she is, then, but where…?" asked Mr Weasley quietly.

"Only he knows," whispered Bathsheba quietly, "only he's not going to let on!"

"Albus," continued Arthur Weasley, looking at Dumbledore gravely. "Can you explain to us how the Ministry knew where to find her? I mean, we have all the files here, don't we?"

Pausing momentarily, Dumbledore bowed his head as he acknowledged Mr Weasley's question before rising slowly to his full height. He then slowly made eye contact with most of the Order members in front of him before he continued.

"I am afraid I don't know. The Ministry alerted me to her whereabouts and demanded I accompany them to the cottage so I could carry out the decree that was made upon me in the Wizengamot. With Merlin's luck Severus managed to get there before I did and aided her abscondment. We can only assume that there were some very dedicated people at the Ministry determined to find them."

Remus Lupin was now standing up and he appeared to be addressing both Snape and Dumbledore at the same time. His face was covered in semi-healed scars, his overall general appearance was extremely threadbare and worn and it looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Whatever he had been doing, wherever he had been, it had done very little to enhance his health.

"She chose to be out of this, she is my responsibility."

"You are not married Remus, she is her own responsibility." Dumbledore's words were kind but firm and ordinarily they would have made Remus Lupin sink back down into his chair. This time however he remained steadfast.

"Why was I not told that her safety was compromised, that the security was breached? Whose decision was it not to tell me?" His gaze rested momentarily on Snape before Dumbledore stepped forward, his blue eyes underneath his spectacles displaying the honesty and frankness of the whole world.

"It was my decision…I have the ultimate duty of care." At his words Lupin's neck failed, allowing his head to droop noticeably as he sat back down. He continued to stare at the floor and several of the Order members close to him looked at him sympathetically before their attention was drawn back to Dumbledore.

"I have her notebooks; there was very little left when the attempt to apprehend Cecilia failed. Severus retrieved them and he is using them to work out Harry's potion. There was something important in them he wishes to share with us all." He looked across at Snape, who inclined his head in a minute display of supplication before pursing his lips harshly.

"Indeed. Professor Dumbledore did not tell them of her location, of course; the Ministry never stopped looking for her and when Percy Weasley eventually hit upon her location – " there was a stifled gasp from the middle of the audience and many heads turned to see a shocked Molly Weasley turning bright pink, her hand to her mouth in horror. Next to her Arthur Weasley had his arm around her shoulders and was speaking quietly to her.

"I am afraid to say that unfortunately, Severus is correct. Percy volunteered to find her because he knew what she looked like – " Arthur Weasley's face grew grave and his own face began to pale to an ashen hue. "Fortunately Severus was able to rescue her research work in its entirety, now located securely in my office. It was too much of a risk for it to have been left, of course and Severus's study of her progress will give us the best chance in the most advantageous timeframe. Severus – " Dumbledore turned to Snape, who was waiting patiently adjacent Dumbledore, presumably for the moment he would be asked to continue.

"What I propose is Cecilia Frobisher's hypothesis on genetic variation and inheritance," he began, looking at Sirius, who nodded back at Snape. "She detailed the information to me in a letter, but where should we begin – "

"You received written _correspondence_ from Mrs Frobisher?" Kingsley, who was propping up the staircase from the other side, suddenly stepped forward and the usually enigmatic Ministry official voiced his concern directly at Snape. The rest of the Order stared rigidly at Snape, waiting for a response. Whatever had provoked Shacklebolt's disquiet was obviously worth listening carefully to.

"…not twenty four hours before I took her to safety." Snape glanced down at the parchment in his hand, as did the twenty five other wizards. "She says – "

"Perhaps we should hear _her_ words," stated Sturgis, looking fiercely at Snape, "rather than you parrot-phrasing them."

"Paraphrasing," corrected Dumbledore lightly. He looked across to Snape. "Severus?" The wizard nodded, pulling out and opening the parchment. Highlighting certain passages with the very tip of his wand the relevant passage the words on the page magically transformed themselves into speech expressing the tone of the writer at the time that they wrote it and this conveyed Mrs Frobisher's obvious excitement at her hypothesis. All eyes were on the hovering parchment as they concentrated on Cecilia's ethereal voice.

"…it's genetic, Severus, the continuum. There are no two compartments where people can be sorted out. You can't just pigeonhole people as wizards and muggles, it's far more complicated than that. In wizards, someone who is good at a particular spell or area of magic, their children tend to be good at it too, and why some people are better at some things than others. It's all down to their genes and DNA, which chromosomes allow which spells to be carried out the best, and which worst. Obviously it depends on practise, how often a wizard practises and to get the best results together, of course. Muggles are at the other end, unable to metabolise the energy for spells. Squibs are just on the cusp, magic influencing their lives of course but unable to utilise magic, but are still part of the magical world. Potions 17 and 19 show this to be so, but you'll have to check it with a wizard or witch at Hogwarts or in the Order as well as with Harry. Just bear in mind the continuum and the wave-particle duality of energy if you refine any more, it's not just the environment either but for all we know Petunia Dursley could have been a witch. As for your science, you are more than proficient Severus, I am very proud…"

Snape waved his wand a little too late and the Order were staring at him as the last sentence was aired, expressed in a reverential and encouraging tone. He stood silent once more, offering neither to explain what Cecilia had written or comment upon it. Instead he caught sight of Lupin's face, and the rivulets of tears on his cheeks.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, nodding to the stone-silent Snape. "We are investigating how she was discovered."

All at once the room erupted into a din. The wizards talked loudly amongst themselves, speculating on the manner in which her discovery had come about.

"…actually Tonks and her new husband went to visit them…" commented Bertie Wergs nodding towards Mad-eye Moody.

"…she has also had owls from other people, ourselves included," said Molly Weasley, turning to Dumbledore and trying to make herself heard.

"It could be any number of things," commented Sturgis Podmore reasonably. "Perhaps the spells cast upon the cottage were breakable in some way?"

"Yes, but it seems suspiciously coincidental that Cecilia Frobisher was discovered the day before her family were killed and that her goddaughter only just survived," replied Bathsheba sagely. From the front of the meeting Snape stood silently still. Dumbledore stood still too before eventually he put his wand to his throat.

"Silence!" he boomed, shocking the Order into the aforementioned state of affairs. Those who were standing sat back down and those already seated stared back at Dumbledore respectfully.

"The cottage in which Remus – " he looked at Remus quickly, " – and Mrs Frobisher have lived in together for the last three months has been protected by the greatest of concealment spells the world has ever seen. I know this to be true for it was in fact I who cast them." He nodded slowly around the Order.

"However any correspondence whether through owl, floo or apparition may have breached the concealment and we must only assume that this has happened – Remus – " he added as Lupin got slowly and awkwardly to his feet again, his posture somehow slumped more than usual and his eyes darting around the room as if uneasy and unrestful.

"The fact is that it could be anything that caused her to be discovered," went on Remus, his voice low as if in warning, "but the main reason that she was discovered was her working on the potion – " he looked accusingly at Snape through an untidy fringe. "How many times have you dropped in when Cecilia had been alone – did you not think to cover your tracks?"

"It was not just me I have to say, Lupin," replied Snape quickly, Remus's warning tone equalled by Snape's accusatory one. "Your prominent rise to the notice of the Ministry may have equally put Cecilia at risk; your ex-girlfriend dropping in to tell her about her happy nuptials and taking her away from the cottage for a time…all occasions where she could have been traced."

To the Order there was a moment when it looked as if Remus was going to fly at Snape from his position six feet away from him. Instead he said nothing, looking away before glancing back up and addressing the Order.

"All of you are connected with the potion and some communicating with her…why was she allowed to continue? She had resigned!" Nobody answered for a moment, and then Minerva McGonagall up and stood next to Dumbledore.

"She knew of the risks, Remus. It was her choice to go on researching the work. It is also likely that she may have initiated communication which intercepted by the Ministry also."

"…and now she is gone to goodness knows where – " he broke off, his tone raising in amplitude and pitch as he drew up to his full height.

"Effective from this moment I withdraw my allegiance to the Order. I stand down my duties and break my pledge. I stand alone now, with – " But before he could continue his forthright declaration Dumbledore raised a hand, glancing at Sirius who had also now standing up. Without saying anything Sirius put a hand on Remus's shoulder and he allowed his friend to lead him slowly upstairs.

Once they were gone the Order looked across to Dumbledore waiting for a cue. They didn't have to wait long. He nodded around them again, clasping his hands together reflectively.

"There is to be no more conjecture regarding what led to the near capture of Cecilia Frobisher last Wednesday. Sufficed to say she is safe hands with a member of the Order as secret-keeper. The potion and everything that surrounds its research is with Severus who is, I am assured, now in the position to complete the potion to its completion." At Dumbledore's conclusion Snape slid back to his seat, saying nothing and listening intently.

"Now, my whereabouts last week, I appreciate your patience and trust that you have shown over my absence. Those who held the fort here at headquarters, I thank you," Dumbledore bowed low gracefully before the Order. "The business to which I attended was, in fact, connected to our plan to overcome and defeat Lord Voldermort." A whisper, carried lightly around the room on the air, circulated as a breeze amongst the witches and wizards of the Order. Dumbledore had now got their full attention and he held it, unmatched.

"It is likely that he will strike soon; Lord Voldermort seeks a secret held in the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic. This we knew before," Dumbledore conceded, stroking his long wispy beard. "However we now know that it is something within the Department, aside from the Prophecy that he believes is something than that will empower him more than he could ever hope to imagine, something he believed to be gone forever. Alas, we have no further details; our espionage no longer penetrates within Voldermort's inner circle of followers." Few noticed him glance to one side, and fewer than even one of them noticed he had looked at Snape.

"All we can say for sure is that he will launch an attack on the Ministry, specifically the Department of Mysteries, in order to discover what Voldermort so badly wants to acquire. We must be alert and ready, not only with the potion but also ourselves. Yes, Kingsley?"

"What do you know of the Ministry's standpoint with regard to muggles?" Dumbledore watched Kingsley Shacklebolt move further forward, past some of the seated witches and wizards. "For example, the Security Act?"

"I am aware that muggles are being prevented from entering wizard premises," continued Dumbledore carefully, "including the shameful events at Diagonalley." Murmurs of agreement emanated from the Order as Kingsley nodded slowly.

"The Ministry now plans to extend the Security Act to the befuddlement of any muggle who has knowledge and contact with our world within the last two years – "

" – outrageous! – " At Molly Weasley's outburst Dumbledore nodded.

" – this would include wizards whose children are currently in attendance at Hogwarts and those who are married to muggles – "

"They can't do that!"

"Shocking!" Dumbledore held up a hand.

"It is with regret that I did not organise for us to convene earlier. Many events have unfolded over the last few days which have changed the face of our operation. We must take this opportunity now to share our findings, from our watches, our fortuitous or planned information collection. It is now vital for the defence of our plan which, when it is carried out, will negate the necessity for the Ministry to impose such legislation as well as to rid the world of the evil that is Lord Voldermort."

Half an hour later and the meeting was over. The wizards and witches mingled with one another sharing with one another conversations as well as Molly's copious refreshment. The mood appeared to have been buoyed by Dumbledore's stirring summary of their situation and around the living room bunches of two and three wizards clustered together discussing tasks, assignments and responsibilities with renewed enthusiasm.

In a quiet corner of the house, namely through the kitchen door that led to the small garden of the house two wizards stood apart from the rest, talking frankly with one another. Severus Snape held a hand out to Albus Dumbledore, uncurling it to reveal a small vial of potion.

"You are happy I take it, with the gains that have now been made?"

"Indeed," nodded Snape, folding his hand again before stowing away the vial. "There is now no need to involve Cecilia Frobisher further in this; we have what we need."

"Then you are aware of my destination these past few days?" Snape nodded slowly.

"And you have what he needs?" Snape patted his robe, saying nothing.

"Then you need to take it to him. I am concerned that he has started on a path which may cause us to lose him, and Cecilia Frobisher too. Lupin's reaction this evening was enough to tell me as much."

"He should have what I made before," said Snape emphatically, "there was enough for six months in the vial I originally provided. In addition wolfsbane is one of the prime ingredients in the potion for Mr. Potter – " he patted the outside of his robe absently, " – this could be reblended – " He stopped as Dumbledore rested a hand lightly on Snape's arm.

"I fear for his state of mind, Severus and I fear all reason has left him. It may delay our chief aim and then, other factors might do that for us…"

…upstairs, two floors up, and a conversation between two friends was continuing, not least with a more subdued defensiveness on behalf of one party to the relief of the other one.

"She recovered, Moony, because she survived the first one." Sirius was not at all happy with the way that the conversation was going but it was better than half an hour ago when he had had to put a silencing spell on the study lest the Order below heard Remus's bark of hurtful mistrust. At least now he wasn't threatening to challenge Snape to a duel or something of that vein but the information that Remus had shared with Sirius was at best worrying and at the worst very frightening indeed.

"It was like, she needed a little bit to start with, the one I stupidly gave her," he added, expecting the look of betrayal that Remus had thrown his way. "Then – "

"What was it that Snape gave her to bring her round…Padfoot: you seem to be more his friend than mine these days!" Remus snapped as Sirius paused for well-needed thought.

"He asked me to perform the spell…he needed a pureblood wizard," justified Sirius quickly, pacing around again in front of the fireplace. By contrast Remus was staring out of the window into the now-dark back garden of Number 12.

"Why?"

"It was to do with a particular type of energy, so said Snivellus at any rate," replied Sirius conciliatorily. "Look, you can stay here with me," conceded Sirius, close to the point of giving up. "You can take my room and I'll have my brother's. In any case your cottage is swarming with Ministry officials so you can't go back there, and you can't continue to hang out with a pack of wolves."

He knew he had overstepped the mark when Remus Lupin turned from the study window. Instead of arguing or vocalising his disquiet at his friend's words however he changed the subject.

"I just miss her, that's all. So very, very much." Sirius took the chance of walking over to his friend and patting him firmly on the back.

"I know Moony, but she's safe. She's – "

" – safe?" finished Remus hollowly, stepping back from Sirius. "Unless _you_ are the secret keeper, not Snape, then how do you know? For all we know she – "

"She's got it in her mind that she can cure you," interrupted Sirius quickly before breaking off when he saw the expression on Remus's face. He was not in the right frame of mind to listen to reason, Sirius realised suddenly. He didn't want to know what she thought, only where she was and that he wasn't…couldn't be with her. A week with wild wolves in the very remotest parts of the country would probably leave _him_ feeling like that too.

And then…

….the phenomenon was something that Dumbledore had conveyed to him barely half an hour before the meeting. Despite being the wrong time of the month for his friend to become a werewolf his wolfish traits had been elicited over the last few days through his opting to live in a wolf pack, so much so that his emotions were likely to cause a mid-month transformation, something Sirius had only ever witnessed once and even then he and James had been very lucky.

"Do you have your potion, my old friend?" Sirius made his way back to one of the wing-backed chairs that faced the study window knowing that he needed to calm Remus if he were to save him from transforming now. "Do you have it on you?" Remus said nothing and turned soundlessly back towards the window. Eventually he turned to look at Sirius, and nodded.

"Why?"

"Just wondering," he replied truthfully, folding a leg over the other so his right ankle rested upon his left knee. "Humour me Moony, especially if you are going to be here a while, have you got it with you?"

Turning back towards the window, Remus patted his outer robe pocket before letting his right arm fall limply to his side.

"No matter where she is, Lupin, she will always love you – " Sirius paused as a knock at the door interrupted his sentiment. He called out to the visitor, telling them to go away. Instead, the doorknob turned and Severus Snape entered the study.

"Go away," growled Remus, his hackles rising as Snape stood in the doorway.

"I think you should do as he says," reiterated Sirius, getting to his feet.

"Why?!" roared Remus suddenly, taking a few murderous steps towards Snape. To his credit Snape remained exactly where he was, watching Lupin stride past Sirius bearing down upon him.

"I need her to be safe," replied Snape his intonation firm and even.

"_You_? Considering her safety?"

"Why do you think I made the wolfsbane in the first place? I brought the potion to you because of _her_, Lupin," Snape spat back.

"You would do well to stop mothering her, Severus," added Sirius, a tinge of warning in his voice. Not warning him off, but warning him away. "Next you'll be saying it was Potter's fault that she was found…" At Sirius's word silence reigned momentarily. Snape shifted his weight between each foot, glancing first at Remus and then at Sirius.

"Harry's fault?" Sirius looked at Remus, whose face had become so stiff it rivalled that of Snape on a good day.

"He apparently communicated with her too."

Without saying anything Remus fixed his stare forward, marching across the landing and turning right towards Sirius's bedroom, the street lamps from the adjacent street beaming their electric sodium yellow along the passageway and illuminating his diminishing shadow. Sirius pushed past Snape and followed him, stopping dead when he heard the lock in the door click closed.

"Cosy," commented Snape next to Sirius's ear. His voice startled Sirius making him jump.

"Severus!" he gasped, turning to look at Snape. "Still peering in keyholes I see?" Snape's face remained impassive and he ignored the barb, refusing to rise to it. Defeated, Sirius turned to face Snape and turned up the corners of his mouth, which for all the world could have been interpreted as a smile.

"He'll be okay; he'll sleep it off." Sirius began to make his way back up the corridor and turned right back towards the study. Snape followed him, keeping a few steps behind him as he waited for Sirius to invite him in which he did and offered Snape a seat. He shook his head, remaining silent.

"I can understand why it had to be done," Sirius continued, producing his wand and conjuring a pot of tea. "He is devastated, though. The love of his life…gone!" Without saying a word Snape bobbed his head once in acknowledgement.

"Believe me, if there had been any other way," he added, watching Sirius stir his tea, "but…we had to act quickly. I sealed the secret-keeper pact with Dumbledore moments before I – and they – arrived. She is safe." Looking up from his char-making ritual momentarily Sirius stared at him for a brief couple of seconds before nodding back.

"It has to be done for all out sakes…are you sure you wouldn't like a cup?" Snape eyed the teapot for a second before shaking his head. To Sirius's gesture towards the empty seat opposite Snape conceded to comfort and sat stiffly.

"You are a good friend, Bl – Sirius," commented Snape, darting glances around the study. "A wizard with such an affliction is in need of it." Reaching into his robe he pulled out the wolfsbane potion that he had agreed with Dumbledore to prepare, placing it on the table between them. "Should he need it there should be a sufficient quantity for a month." Sirius paused mid-sip of tea and looked at the vial.

"He says he has some – " replied Sirius, sipping at the tea, " – but in any case, thank you." Snape nodded briefly.

"Tell me," continued Sirius conversationally, "it must feel an awful relief to be free of Lord Voldermort's power over you." Snape shot him a look, saying nothing. Sirius smiled.

"I do beg your pardon, I only ask – " Sirius sighed and lowered his teacup. "Regulus never got that reprieve. What does it feel like?"

What does it feel like? Severus Snape's thoughts reproduced Sirius's ill-considered question as he fought to ascertain what it did feel like. Relief was one over-riding feeling…for all the irritation on the deep-ground scar that branded his left forearm it still felt somewhat odd that it did not develop into searing white-hot agony after a time. It felt like…as if a wave of water so mighty and strong, penning up energy and power behind it ready to smash onto a calm beach had suddenly been diminished to nothing, to glass-still tranquillity. The mental relief had been the hardest to cope with however, and it had caused more than one lapse in attention.

"The Dark Lord has left me forever thanks to Mrs Frobisher," replied Snape silkily. "This leaves me with ample time to complete your godson's potion. Again, thanks to Mrs Frobisher. Harry Potter and I share one thing in common and that is eternal gratitude to her for her selfless acts."

"How long will it take?" Sirius asked, glancing at the potion. "At what rate are you able to do this, given the changes you now have to make, alone?" Snape exhaled, bringing his eyes to rest on Sirius's teacup, before moving up to his dark brown, almost black eyes.

"It could take years," he admitted, "although we have narrowed it down to a small range of ingredients. The likelihood is that we, that is to say I, will have managed to reduce this significantly. One, maybe two months?"

"We don't have time," he added, looking away from Sirius," especially if what has been discussed this afternoon takes hold." Sirius turned to Snape sharply, his eyes glowing with undiminished excitement and danger. "What if I were to say if I were to tell you that Harry needn't go through any of this? Cecilia said…"

Sirius suddenly broke off and hurried towards the door, making sure it was shut before placing a sealing charm in the door.

"Cecilia told you about the continuum?" At his words Snape could see that he had lost Sirius, who paused mid-walk back to his chair. "Cecilia believes there is more to this than just heritable blood. There is a certain reason for the potion not working, something we overlooked last time. That there is a continuum, right from the most powerful wizard, to the least and that ability can be altered or abilities could be lost and gained."

Sirius looked far more interested than Snape gave him credit for and, as his old adversary pushed him for more information a shadow of suspicion rested in his mind. Snape watched Sirius carefully, as he used to when they were children, waiting for the briefest signs of betrayal.

"She believes that the extent to which you are a wizard depends not only on your parentage but also on your situation…and your emotions. Power can depend on what you believe too, something upon which Voldermort relies. How many otherwise superb wizards have lost their nerve and their ability to perform even the simplest of spells in his presence?"

"You would know," replied Sirius, matter-of-factly.

"Indeed." Snape nodded slowly. "This has happened on many occasions, when the followers of the Dark Lord were tired of muggle sport. And also," he continued, "emotional factors, choices to be made about magical ability and how one lives their lives."

For a moment, there was silence. And then Sirius continued. He sat forward in his chair and leaned towards Snape.

"Henrietta. She chose not to be a witch, Severus. She gave up that right and chose to be a muggle after her parents were killed. And for that…and because I could not accept her…Regulus took her." As the awe and wonder of his own revelation spread across Sirius's face Snape in turn nodded.

"I have further evidence, scientific evidence, to bear this out." From his robes he dug out the traces of DNA, a little crumpled around the edges but the bands clearly visible.

"You see here?" Snape leaned forward and held the traces close to Sirius, pointing to a wider band to the centre-left of the chromatogram. "In each of the wizard traces she tested, Cecilia isolated this band, which she called "W"." Sirius nodded where Snape indicated. "Now here, on her own trace, and that of Arabella Figg, no W band. " Sirius nodded in agreement again. "Now these…" Against the flickery light of the study's candelabra Snape held a further trace, and he looked across at Sirius, waiting for the confirmation.

"Which wizard is this then?" Sirius asked out of narrative discourse, examining the traces. But Snape shook his head, turning over the trace and revealing the name of the genetic donor, described in Cecilia's neat handwriting.

"But it can't be!" exclaimed Sirius, pulling the trace out of Snape's hand and looking at it on both sides. "If what you said…this can't be Petunia Dursley's; it's got that "W" band, like the others, and she's a – "

" – muggle, I know," finished Snape, nodding. "Now, look at this one." He handed Sirius a further trace, getting him to hold them both up to the window of Sirius's study so the light shone through clearly as he placed one on top of the other.

"On this one, the W band's still there, but not in the same place as the one on Petunia Dursley's," said Sirius, pointing at the band which he believed to be displaced. "Another muggle?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Snape, shaking his head and retrieving the DNA traces from Sirius's hand.

"Did Cecilia know about these?" Snape shook his head, and Sirius started to pace, rubbing his eyes and temples as he sought to take it all in.

"So what does this all mean? For the potion? And for Harry?" He watched as Snape extracted further traces from his pocket, including that of Ted Tonks and Sirius smiled to himself.

"Well firstly, they cannot remain in my possession. The witch who has replaced Cecilia under ministry orders has been further charged to uncover the Universal Link. And I'm doing my best to keep her from doing so. Which is why I need to ask if these traces can be stored here." Snape extended his hand, the rest of the Cecilia's traces bunched within his grip, and Sirius nodded, taking them.

"And the potion?"

"I have enough of an understanding through these to be getting on with it, although progress has been slow due to Tabitha Penwright."

"The ministry's muggle studies teacher?" asked Sirius, trying to keep up.

"Precisely." Snape stroked his chin before folding his arms. "However her job in the ministry was in the Department of Mysteries, so she has few talents, including teaching."

"So the kids are loving her as much as they love you," chuckled Sirius. Then his face turned ashen as he took in Snape's expression and he shot an apologetic look to Snape.

"Indeed," intoned Snape looking past Sirius, but Sirius extended a hand.

"I apologise," he said, looking as if he meant it. "Old habits," he continued, as Snape looked at him with mistrustful uncertainty for a few seconds before inclining his head in a brief nod.

"So Cecilia was pretty much on the right lines," continued Snape, taking Sirius's hand. "From this evidence it would seem that emotionally, or through willpower, just as much as blood will determine wizardly magical ability. It is a premise I am now incorporating into Harry's potion." Sirius nodded before frowning suddenly.

"You said she was an Unspeakable?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"I didn't," replied Snape, refolding his arms. "I said she worked in the department of mysteries."

"She's a Mysteriour?!" exclaimed Sirius, pacing towards the study window. "By all that's magical, they really do want to find the Universal Link then, and be sure about it."

"So what does her working at the Department of Mysteries have to do with all this?" said Snape, leaning back and looking at Sirius curiously. "And that Potter needn't go through all this – what did you mean?"

"If you are the secret-keeper, will you confide?" replied Sirius quickly, turning from the window and referring to the millennia-old tradition of sharing a secret for which you have sworn an oath to protect with to a trusted other under the same conditions as the original was sworn. Snape said nothing for a moment before turning from Sirius and making his way towards the door.

"Fine," said Sirius, realising that perhaps the twenty eight or so years of mutual hatred and mistrust could not be put aside that easily as to share this level of intimacy. "But maybe you could – " he broke off as a screaming howl reverberated around 12, Grimmauld Place and past the frozen figure of Snape Sirius strode automatically as if attuned to the hideous sound automatically, pacing past him furiously.

"What the – " began Snape, extending a hand as Sirius passed him, but Sirius shook him off.

"I have to go. It's his time, out of month," he continued, hand on the knob of the study door. "I hope to Merlin that he managed to find the potion in time."

"If only I could help," said Snape, and Sirius paused, flicking the corners of his mouth towards the imposing wizard.

"She wants to cure him," said Sirius, as he turned the knob and threw open the door and Snape hurried, shoulder to shoulder with him towards the baying howl that was coming from the end of the house. "You can help with the wolfsbane – it sounds like he hasn't taken it," he added, frowning at Snape. "Which, if I can get to him in time, means we don't need to get to the Forbidden Forest, and he won't be at risk from the Ministry." Turning left Sirius and Snape headed towards the dreadful sound that was coming from Sirius's bedroom. "She truly is a remarkable woman," Sirius added as they got to it before falling silent to the scratching sound that was coming from within before a scratching and attacking of the door itself caused wood panelling splinters to erupt from it.

"He's transformed," said Sirius as the sound of breakable ornaments being smashed emanated from around the door.

"Stay back," shouted Snape in warning as the figure of Molly Weasley appeared, her face a picture of concern at the end of the landing. He turned back to Sirius, who was trying the handle. "Does he have the potion? Will it work after the transformation?" Sirius stared at her momentarily and she held her expression firm. "Dumbledore explained everything to us." And then she turned on her heel and scurried away.

"It will soothe the effects," replied Sirius, leaping away as more of the wood panelling was ripped away from the lower frame by a large, well-claw-endowed paw.

"It's no use, I've got to try to get in there and find it. I'll be too late if I get the other one. Can you cover my back?" He turned and looked at Snape, eyes full of concern. "He's really suffering," he added sadly.

"Get on with it then," snapped Snape as more of the panelling broke away and he turned the knob of the door as Sirius in the shape of his canine alter-ego leapt to his paws and stood alert before bounding into his room. Snape followed him, wand raised. To the left and right were remnants of what had once been very expensive furniture, now very expensive firewood. The long curtains on the bed hung limply, shredded through to ribbons, some of the strands covered the bed, whose covers too were beribboned, the fabric strips lying in piles of feathers, presumably originating from the massacred mattress.

A dreadful howl reverberated around the oak panels of the room, chilling Snape to the bone as he stepped beside the dog Sirius and, gripping his wand tighter in his hand stopped himself from looking at the werewolfish Lupin cowering, it appeared, in the corner of Sirius's bedroom.

From the floor Snape followed with his eyes the trail of mangled cloth that appeared to have been once the curtains to the limp pile of ragged clothing scattered in a heap to one side which he knew to be Lupin's. Striding towards them, Snape intended to search the pockets for the wolfsbane when a low warning growl and slow movement caught his eye, and Snape jumped visibly.

Before him, Sirius was apparently defending him from the pre-attacking Lupin, his wolfish form was bent as if ready to pounce. Snape gripped his wand yet tighter still as his eyes searched the pile of clothing desperately until finally a glint of glass gleamed gloriously from one end of ragged coat pocket.

And then the following happened, which probably could not have been more co-ordinated if it had been choreographed by Agnes de Mille. Snape made a run for Lupin's clothing; at the same time Sirius began to bark furiously in Lupin's direction who had chosen that same moment to launch himself, fully befanged towards Snape who had, within seconds, reached the vial. Snape's return course was interrupted by Sirius however as he bowled into Snape causing the vial to fly out of his hands. Both wizard and dog watched the trajectory of the glass bottle as the shadow of Lupin's lupine form was cast over them. Lupin leapt and, as he did so, snapped at Snape, his jaws closing around the wolfsbane vial as, snarling, he chewed at it before landing on top of Sirius, who in turn landed on Snape.

After a few moments of struggling the consequences took effect, with the werewolf Lupin rolling back and the dog Sirius bounding off Snape as the wizard pushed him off, panting.

"Now, perhaps I will leave you," huffed Snape as he finally got to his feet. "Hmph," he exhaled painfully as he examined the scene, thinking about the words, with hindsight he perhaps shouldn't have uttered. I'll cover your back, certainly Sirius! Indeed!

Glancing between the two animals Snape nodded again, both at Remus, whose wolverine form was lying hunched, as if now lucid, blood dripping from his mouth, and Sirius who was back on his pads.

"I'll leave you two gentlemen for your moonlit stroll," continued Snape, smoothing down his robes as he continued to look between them. "Good talking to you, Sirius."

As Snape closed the ruined door to Sirius Black's bedroom, limping and dishevelled, he merely nodded to the group of Order members – Arthur Weasley, Bathsheba Braddle and Kingsley Shacklebolt amongst them – who were standing clustered at the top of the stairs and, as one, were looking at him with deep concern.

Saying nothing, Snape reached into the folds of his robes as began to descend the stairs and he began to turn the few tufts of sandy-coloured wolf-hair around his fingers.

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Draco's second week at Smeltings was not going well. For a start, there was the work, which was a very big part of his life there. His tack of ignoring most of the things that were going on around him in lessons had turned out to be quite a good strategy but his problems did not lie intrinsically with the work. Teachers would allow him to do as much as he could, which in some cases was not a great deal but it was when he was with the other lads, at dinner; during prep; during free time. Despite his social isolation from these muggles some of them reminded him of himself: rich and arrogant and were they to have magical ability he might have been in their awe.

His connection to the muggle boys here was incidental to the work he was undertaking. Draco had been most concerned with collecting the science that he needed to furnish his father with what the Dark Lord required but how was he supposed to discover what he needed when he barely understood any of the lessons? How was he supposed to know what was relevant?

Draco supposed that he would need to find a brainbox like that mudblood Granger, the muggle equivalent, who would be able to explain it all to him. But above all this, Draco was dreadfully unhappy. All that was keeping him at the wretched place was the displeasure his father would display were he to fail, and that kind of displeasure was not very healthy. And besides, he told himself sharply, it was actually an honour to do the Dark Lord's bidding, knowing that one day the scourge of the world, the magicless muggles, would eventually be done away with.

Lying on his back, school lessons going on in the buildings a few hundred yards away and with the warm summer sun irradiating him most pleasantly Draco Malfoy reflected on how difficult it actually was not to do magic in the muggle world. He had nearly got discovered when he had involved himself in Big D's fight, restraining himself in time and reminding himself that he would get discovered and lose everything if the ministry sent him an underage wizard caution.

Magic had almost got Darren Malloy into hot water when, during a maths lesson which he was surprisingly able to follow, he alikened the Fibonacci series to the number of players and balls in a game of Quidditch. Fortunately the boys had taken no notice and the teacher, though frowning a little, did not ask him to repeat his analogy.

Draco put his hands behind his head and raised it a few inches from off the ground, looking for others who were likely to join him shortly. From his vantage point lying flat down on the soft, dry grass, he was undetectable from all angles courtesy of the landscape contours. Not that he had worked that one out for himself, indeed: those who were also seeking to amuse themselves in ways that involved anything other than academic pursuits were those whose company he was expecting. Outcasts. The spat-upon. The geeks. Yes, they were muggles, but their bad attitude towards everyone and everything was the glue that held their weird world together.

It hadn't been like that at the start of the week before, thought Draco, lying back down on the grass and becoming geographically invisible. The first few days had been the worst and the already well-established muggle fifth years had wasted no time in testing their new classmate. Many had been far from kind in their acceptance of him in their lives and a range of misfortunes had befallen Darren Malloy. These included teasing about his accent and derision for his disinterest of all things sporty which, to their incredulous amazement, he claimed never to have heard of before. That was one mistake he wouldn't make again, and the masochistic side of his mind reminded him of the conversation that he was having with three other muggle boys who had cornered him one evening. It had taken a lot of willpower not to turn on them with his wand.

"You can't be serious!" one of them declared, standing a good four inches taller than him.

"I am telling you, I don't know what football is!" he had repeated firmly.

Had it not been for Dudley Dursley who had wandered past a few moments later then he was sure he would have been on the receiving end of a rather hard muggle punch. Dudley had said nothing much, just glowered at the boys who had seemed to interpret it as a threat. That had prompted Draco to intervene in the fight of the year at the park.

And that had somehow sealed a kind of strange allegiance. In his own mind Draco refused to call it friendship but it was better than his association with Crabbe and Goyle, who followed him around with dumb admiration and awe and hadn't a brain between them. With Big-D there was a kind of equivalence.

Draco looked up again from behind the rock checking for people approaching and sure enough two figures were ambling towards him. From the look of them they were Elrick and Chree. He smiled as he considered the other two members of their non-group.

Chree was a goth whose real name was Jane and who didn't sleep in a coffin but at the local girls' independent school, Weavers. She was barely ever there choosing to spend much of her time at Smeltings in the company of Elrick Bruce, a dweeb by proud reputation (he even had the T-shirt) who would have made the entire under 18 population of computer geeks look like the in-crowd.

Fighting every instinctive urge in his body to reduce the pair to mere shadows of the shadows of themselves instead Draco narrowed his eyes and instead focused his anger on the wizards who had put him in this situation. Many, many times since he had arrived at Smeltings Draco had been dreaming of the moment he would be leaving, even being taken to task about daydreaming in lessons over plans of liberty.

Sticking a hand above the geographical feature (which was theoretically aiding and abetting his skiving) and waving to the two muggles before pulling down his arm promptly. As he watched his two tickets to freedom wave back in greeting Draco smiled. Things were getting better and better.

88888888

Things had gone from bad to worse and now, at the end of her second week at Hogwarts Tabitha Penwright dreaded her lessons. Classes would line up outside the muggle studies classroom in stony silence heads bowed, turning away from her, staring at the ceiling or straight at her unblinkingly. In she would see and seat them swishing her wrist as they began to sit enchanting the books over to them and opening them up onto the correct page indicating to the students that they were required to copy it out before answering the short end-of-section questions. But what Tabitha could not understand was the resentment that these pupils displayed even though she was carrying out each task as thoroughly as she could, according to the prescribed practice of Dolores Umbridge.

Sitting on her bed and gazing into the low fireglow Tabitha's mind fell upon the incident that had taken place that very afternoon. The fourth year students had been swiftly replaced by the fifth years, books had been distributed and quills extracted somewhat reluctantly as usual from robes in order to complete an hour of copying and recall. The murmuring and muttering of disobedient children began half an hour in, breaking the silence and causing Tabitha's attention to be called to the class.

Getting to her feet she had employed the classroom management technique of emitting sparks from her wand which her classes knew as a signal for attention. However her ineptitude to pull off this fundamentally easy spell had resulted in titters and sniggers, erupting from behind shielded mouths as the sparks puffed out in small points of smoke.

Shame and embarrassment had flooded Tabitha which she had turned into a raised voice telling the class to continue with their work. But the hubbub continued and soon Tabitha had found herself knee-deep in the unreserved talking of the class.

"What is the problem?!" she had demanded, eventually getting (voice loud spell) to take effect and silence had descended upon the room.

"Professor Penwright," began Hermione Granger forthrightly, "the problem seems to be in these three chapters here – "

"I DID not ASK for you to TELL me!" declared Tabitha forcefully. An uneasy silence fell around the classroom.

"Professor Penwright." A raised hand, like a lonely tree stood proud of the throng. Harry Potter was staring at her.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry put his hand down and glanced around his peers.

"We…er, we are just a bit confused about something in the textbook," he ventured carefully.

"Oh yes? And what might that be?" Harry looked at Ron next to him as one or two mutters behind him formed a backdrop to his proto-query.

"Well," he continued, consulting the text book, "it says here that muggles are not educated in a school and instead the parents teach what is necessary for basic survival. It says that it is the deep-rooted desire of every muggle to undermine everything in our world. And later on it says that muggles are ignorant of anything magical, choosing to ignore it."

"And?" All eyes were on Hermione Granger, whose own hand was now raised and she looked at Tabitha as if to clarify Harry's meaning. "Miss Granger?"

"What Harry means to say is that, regardless of the fact that the first statement is entirely incorrect, there are contradictions in the book itself. If muggles are ignorant of magic, how can they want to undermine government?"

This time Tabitha fell silent. Her mind recalled the proper procedure for dealing with a student with bold and audacious opinions. Around her, her class too fell silent, waiting uncomfortably.

"Everything in the book is a fact and you will not question it. Miss Granger I will see you in the staffroom at six o'clock this evening."

She had not felt at all at ease in issuing any of her pupils to copy using the quill with which Umbridge had bestowed upon her; despite the Undersecretary's insistence that it was entirely the best method for preventing repeat performances of unruly behaviour Tabitha just could not conceive of her making a student use one. There were other punishments though that she could use and once she had conveyed Hermione Granger that her spare time would be spent assisting the house elves around the castle a silent, if perturbed, atmosphere descended upon the muggle studies classroom as she set them to further copying out.

Getting slowly to her feet Tabitha scrolled her mental timeline forward to the message that had been left for her in her fireplace that evening. Umbridge. She was to visit her that weekend to discuss her role at Hogwarts. Dolores had not said when but she didn't care: at least she had not come on a weekday to see her teach…to see the unwilling compliance and overhear the chanting…

…Fro-bi-sher…

…pallid, pasty Penwright…

Well, that gave her less than a day. Tomorrow it was Saturday and no lessons at all. She could perhaps make some headway with the Universal Link in the morning.

Making her way to the desk Tabitha shook her head as if to quieten the taunts. A less painful thought crossed her mind, which was: if Dolores Umbridge was coming to see her that weekend then she would expect progress to have been made with Snape. And that would be made a lot easier if he could actually be found. Other than when he was teaching Severus Snape could not be found. As for Harry, when he was not on the Quidditch pitch (his participation, McGonagall had explained as Tabitha had attempted to prevent him from practising again was vital to his health and wellbeing) the information that he had imparted over the last week had been almost incomprehensible and despite reverting to a less authoritative approach Tabitha was none the wiser.

Perhaps if she wrote down what she already knew, that would – no! It was no use! Screwing up the parchment that she had pulled from a pile on the table before her and throwing her quill into the drawer from which she had extracted it Tabitha threw her chair back. It was ten o'clock: Harry Potter would surely be free from his sporting pursuits now, besides Umbridge had decreed that all secrets and information pertaining to the Universal Link be revealed to her. It obviously needed some coaxing.

Pulling on her lightweight robe she brushed some lint from the beige fabric, pulling it around her shoulders before stepping out –

– not stepping out. Stepping out of the door of her room _had_ been her intention but the voices of students heading down the opposite passageway, presumably from the staffroom had stayed her step. She waited for them to pass by and a sinking feeling of dread began to hurtle like a lift with a broken cable to the ground floor of a block of flats.

"…I think she's vile…I mean, making out that the work is right. We know it's all a load of Hippogriff-shit and she makes us copy it out over and over again!" Tabitha held her breath.

"Pasty Penwright," agreed another voice and Tabitha felt her face flush with shame at her student-perpetuated nickname. "There's more colour in Binns than in her. In fact Binns could teach muggle studies better than she could, and he's a dead ghost of a wizard!"

"Right. She's so strict. I mean, Snape is strict, but at least we get results. Is she doing it deliberately or is she really that thick that she thinks we're going to fall for the stuff…"

Stepping back Tabitha closed the door and leaned against it, tears coursing down her face as she clenched her fists to help prevent herself from shaking too much.

She wanted to leave. She could leave all this behind her, go back to the office and see Vincento. If she ran away from here she wouldn't be able to go back to the Ministry. The longing in her stomach for her job and her mystery wove into her mind, soothing her injured feelings. She would be there soon enough, once this job was done, once this was all over. It was all that she had ever wanted to do, not specifically in the ministry, but anywhere, just getting on. She was not brilliant, not like her brother. When her brother did anything he made it sing in perfect luminosity. The most Tabitha had achieved was going to Hogwarts and doing badly there, and then working in a government position unravelling mysteries.

A few minutes later, tears well stemmed and kneeling before the fire she was speaking to her mother again. As expected her brother Robert had worked a minor miracle vocationally and had been promoted. His wife had given birth to a baby girl whom they had christened Isabel and they had just moved house, renovating the previous one and sent Bobby, Isabel's older brother, off to Eton.

"But that's all going to change now Labour's in!" The scorn in her mother's voice cut through four hundred miles of geography and the ethereal floo. "They'll destroy everything that's good about the country and leave it in ruins!" Despite herself Tabitha felt herself nodding slowly as she recalled what her mother considered good about the country. Hanging and the cane in schools were amongst two of them. Single mothers and anyone who immigrated to Britain since the 1950s were another two.

"You lot don't get to vote, do you?" Tabitha shook her head. "Pity…" Mrs Penwright shook her head in disappointment and proceeded to describe the events surrounding the election of a Tony Blair as muggle Prime Minister.

"I've changed jobs," said Tabitha eventually when a suitable gap in the conversation arose.

"What, you've given up at that wretched school?" Her mother's face creased with uncertainty, through the flickering flames.

"Yes," declared Tabitha resolutely, "well no," she conceded feeling confused. "I'm still teaching at my old school but I'm here for the ministry collecting information for the Department of Mysteries." She stopped, waiting for her mother to give her inevitable forceful opinion.

"I know Sturgis is your father's cousin…I know he's one of them, but he put his neck out to get you that job, after you being here and wasting your life – " she broke off and Tabitha maintained the silence, "…well as long as powers don't go again an you shame yourself," she added helpfully, "you don't want to be seen to be ineffectual, even if you are."

And thus Ivy Penwright continued and, as a usual Tabitha listened. She tried not to let the pain show on her face. Since she could remember she always played second fiddle to her brother, even when her magical abilities began to show. Even when she got her letter to go to Hogwarts; it didn't impress her parents. They insisted on calling magic "it", "their world" or "her world; Tabitha had long ago gave up wondering whether her mother did it on purpose but she had to admit that Robert was brilliant at everything he touched whereas she, Tabitha, Robert's younger sister, had to work like a demon just to get by.

"Well, I hope that my work here will help to solve a large problem in the wizard world. Wizards are trying to sort it out and get rid of the threat, mum," she continued when her mother had finished. "There's also some danger to the m- the non magic community and there's some good but misguided wizards who have some information that could be useful. Sturgis is working there too," she added hopefully.

"That's interesting dear," her mother nodded, pursing her lips. "You know, Serina has just taken up needlepoint? She's such a dear sweet girl; Robert was very lucky to find her…I was showing her how she could add some detail to Isabel's clothing…"

And so it went on for another five minutes, until the telephone rang and Tabitha's mother excused herself from the conversation. Kneeling back on her heels, she watched the embers die to nothing before returning to their flame-orange colour.

Well, that was excellent, she thought to herself, annoyed. Very productive. Well, she thought as she got slowly up to her feet there was nothing else for it: time for Florence Branch's brand of elf help.

88888888

"Good morning, my dear!"

Vernon Dursley was sitting at the breakfast table when Cecilia made her way tentatively into it. Her heart sank as the large frame of the man wobbled heartily at his booming greeting. Smiling nervously and nodding she sat obediently at the chair that Mr Dursley was patting and she glanced across to Petunia Dursley whose back was away from the dining table cooking the breakfast.

"I'll be bringing Dudley home this morning, about eleven o'clock, so you will be able to start that tuition programme that you've devised." Cecilia nodded, saying nothing. Each morning that week had been the same and she realised that the best way to disengage from a long, drawn-out conversation about the intricate negotiations that the purchasing of drill bits from the Far East entailed was to nod politely and say nothing.

"So, what do you have in store for my son then? A little bit of – " he waved his hands over his steaming cup of tea " – chemistry, eh? Some – BOOM – physics?" He leaned over and nudged her in the arm and waggled his caterpillar eyebrows, chuckling, "biology…?"

"Hm-hm!" Mrs Dursley stood at Mr Dursley's left hand side, clearing her throat and frowning at her husband as she placed the toast rack and his breakfast plate firmly onto the table.

"Petunia, my darling," Mr Dursley replied, beaming a wide smile back to her. "Aren't you just as happy as I am that we have found ourselves such a treasure to teach our little Duddiekins?" He then irradiated Cecilia with the same oily smile like a strong flashlight in the dark. Petunia Dursley nodded slowly.

"Miss Wells, I have taken the liberty of returning your tutorial plan Dudley's work area over there." Petunia Dursley leaned forward and spoke to Cecilia, pointing to the pile of books that Dursley junior had thrown into a pile next to the television. "Mr Dursley was intrigued by the detail and sophistication of your work and he is convinced that our son will achieve what we expect of him." She glanced at her husband before making her way back to the kitchen. "A cup of tea, and toast?" Petunia asked over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Cecilia nodded before looking back at the table, and then across to Dudley's books. With luck, Mr Dursley would eat his breakfast in peace and then leave for work without talking to her again. Sadly, her luck was out and Mr Dursley began to speak to her on an obscure topic about plants that had been on the television the previous evening.

"But then Dudley'll be able to explain all of this to me very soon!" He looked across at Cecilia and winked. "It's all down to the teacher you know, Petunia. He's making progress now we've got a bit of life in the house…"

"Excuse me, Miss Wells," interrupted Mrs Dursley, sitting herself down at the table and buttering some toast for herself from the overflowing toast rack. "A package arrived for you with this morning's post." Vernon Dursley harrumphed like a deflating balloon as Cecilia excused herself from the table and, commenting that the last of her belongings had arrived made her way swiftly into the hall closing the living room door behind her. Relief. Relief to be away from the creepy, over-friendly interest of Mr Dursley and she sat on the bottom step of the stairs and looked at the brown paper package tied up with string.

The week had been long and Cecilia had had to bite her tongue on more than one occasion when Mrs Dursley spoke to her, which happened rarely, dreaming of the careers that her beloved Duddie-poos would be able to choose from after he had gained his qualifications. Not that it mattered to Cecilia what the results of her teachings would be for the reason she was here was not primarily to teach Dudley Dursley but professional pride would not allow her to make a bad job of it. So she had nodded in agreement as words like "not on a cold day in hell" sprang to mind when –

– the realisation of the addressee's hand registered in her mind and Cecilia dived towards the brown paper, forcing the string from around the inner objects shredding most of the outer wrapping in the process.

And then, then she was staring at her own things! Her belongings! The glorious originals that had made the last weeks' attempts to recreate some of it pale by the wayside. She flopped down onto the stairs looking at her latest two notebooks and her original copy of the scientists' encyclopaedia that she had left at Hogwarts when she left.

"Everything all right out there, Miss Wells?" Mr Dursley called through from the dining room as Cecilia held her belongings to her chest.

"Yes," she called back. "Thank you. I'm just going to – "

Turning quickly Cecilia made her way upstairs and stowed away her belongings as a swell of anger swirled in her stomach. Snape. He sent her her things. There was no note, from what she could tell, nothing to indicate why he had sent them, or when she might be returning to her home and to her Remus. Was she to presume that he needed her help?

Half an hour later and Cecilia willed herself to leave her bedroom (it was too disturbing to think of as Harry's). She made her way downstairs to prepare the work for Dudley who was just about to return with his father. As she sat down she smiled at Petunia Dursley who had washed up and was cleaning the kitchen. She didn't expect one in return: whereas Mr Dursley engaged her in unwelcome conversation Mrs Dursley barely spoke to her at all. She was polite and friendly but not very talkative and it wasn't just to her: the milkman, her neighbours, even her friend to whom she had introduced Cecilia on Wednesday when she stopped by to visit Petunia.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss Wells?" asked Petunia suddenly, as Cecilia sat at the dining room table reading for the fifth time through her notes, many of which had to be amended to accommodate Dudley's ability (which, it had to be said, was a little on the scant side).

"Certainly, Mrs Dursley," Cecilia replied politely. "Is my tuition to your satisfaction?" Petunia Dursley paused in her cleaning of the oven, nodding before returning to the task in hand.

"I do hope so; I believe you did the right thing in correcting any underdeveloped areas of his education through tuition. I am sure he will make you proud." Petunia stopped again before nodding once more. Cecilia looked back to her work. It was clear that she wasn't going to get much out of her and she continued to look through a topic on homeostasis that would be accessible to Dudley Dursley although if he was as unco-operative as he had been the previous weekend he might just have got the concept by Christmas.

"I never got the chance to go to the school I wanted to," said Petunia suddenly. Cecilia looked up and realised she was standing right next to her. Sitting stiffly in a dining chair opposite Cecilia Petunia looked across at the books in front of Cecilia. "I could have worked hard enough but – " she broke off. "I don't remember learning much about all of this when I was there."

"If you would like to," ventured Cecilia, "you could learn with Dudley. I'm sure he'd enjoy it if you did." Petunia Dursley fixed her with a look for a second before glancing down and shaking her head.

"No, I'm far too old to be bothering with things like that. What do I need to learn that for now? The skills I have to be a mother…and a wife…" she stopped. "No. Thank you for your kind offer, Miss Wells. I do think that you need to concentrate your fullest efforts on Dudley." And with that she made her way back to the kitchen and continued to clean the cooker.

And then, before she knew it (and before she had a chance to return to her books that Snape had sent her) Dudley himself had returned home, storming immediately upstairs as soon as he had got through the door and throwing himself behind his bedroom door, sitting with his back to it. His father chased after him and spent a half an hour remonstrating with Dudley until he finally extracted him from his room.

With many a moan and groan and under the watchful eye of his parents who were keeping an eye on his tuition from the living room (Mr Dursley reading a newspaper and Mrs Dursley embroidering) Dudley began to listen to Cecilia and follow the programme laid out for him. She had abandoned the homeostasis and instead had opted for reactivity and she had set him a game that she would usually set for year 9 as part of their SATs revision.

As he worked Cecilia's mind drifted to her work upstairs, whether she had missed a note that Severus might have sent her, perhaps sandwiched in a couple of pages and then her thoughts drifted onto the cure that she had been working on for Remus. It had been on her mind a lot for the last few days and the longer she thought about the task the closer she felt to him.

A hormone balance, or imbalance might be a factor in his work. The moon and its influence on water too. Could there be a link there?

"Dad," said Dudley after a time. Cecilia blinked and returned to reality, looking at the teenager who was looking at his father. "There are some bits on here I don't understand, can I use the Internet?"

"Yes, certainly," replied Vernon Dursley, looking up from his newspaper and smiling lasciviously at Cecilia. "Only with Miss Wells's supervision, though. I don't want you to be playing games on there when you should be studying."

Dudley was out of his chair faster than Cecilia had ever seen him move and he headed into the hall. She followed and found the back end of Dudley attempting to squeeze into the cupboard under the stairs wherein a computer and desk had been placed. Returning to the kitchen Cecilia took one of the counter stools and sat in the hallway next to Dudley who barely fitted into the space and watched for the next hour as he extracted and printed off information.

To be honest, Dudley was not unintelligent. On the contrary he had the ability to do really well in his work, or rather he _had _had the ability. Sixteen years of molly-coddling by his mother had put pay to many social and thinking skills, some of which were beginning to stir from dormancy (others such as the ability to do as he was told regardless of whether he liked it or not were certainly absent, as evidenced by Dudley's tantrum on returning home).

"Wow!" said Dudley suddenly, glancing at Cecilia and pointing to the photograph of a displacement reaction on the screen. "Is that all silver?"

Cecilia looked at the screen. It showed what looked like a coiled copper wire over which some sort of silver solution had been poured. According to the caption it was silver nitrate and, of course, the copper was more reactive so it forced the silver out of its compound causing it to collect on the outside of the coil giving the effect of a very furred-up element inside a kettle.

"So, how does that happen, Dudley?" she asked. Dudley looked at her in disbelief, as much as to say, 'do you really expect me to work now I'm on the computer?'

"What do you know about reactions?" she insisted.

"Well, the metals swap places," said Dudley, giving a barely adequate answer for a child two years his junior.

"Yes?" prompted Cecilia. And then Dudley did something that she hadn't expected. He thought for himself, giving her a near perfect answer and explanation. Cecilia felt her inner teacher's torch of knowledge flare a little brighter knowing that she had actually taught him something and she smiled aloud as Dudley went back to collecting relevant information from the Internet and printing it out.

Ten minutes later and Mr and Mrs Dursley came out of the living room and instructed Dudley to turn the computer off. They were going round to the Fosters for lunch, Mr Foster was Mr Dursley's business partner, and Vernon Dursley wanted to know whether Dudley had done sufficient work to be granted some time away from his studies. With genuine recount Cecilia agreed that he had he was clucked over by his mother for a few minutes before shooing him upstairs to change into something smart.

It was a relief when the Dursley family had left. They had told Cecilia they would be back later that afternoon and Dudley could recommence his work. There was some food in the refrigerator, Mrs Dursley had told her, which she could have to keep up her strength.

As she made her way upstairs to her room with a sandwich Cecilia wondered why it was that Mrs Dursley always wanted to feed her up. Clearly it was something she had done all her life with her son and husband so perhaps she didn't know any better.

Sitting on the candlewick bedspread Cecilia pulled out her notebooks from the bottom drawer of the desk next to it. She bit through the bread and cheese in the sandwich before putting the plate on the desktop as she flicked through the books. Nothing seemed to have been added either to the content or between the pages and Cecilia pondered the reason he had sent the books back to her.

It was such a risk, she knew that Snape knew that too and although the outer brown paper had the appearance of coming through the post the grubby fingerprints on the back suggested a more magical (and less hygienic) means. So why, if there was not instructions about what he wanted her to do with them, had he returned them?

Closing the cover of the second (and latest) notebook Cecilia picked up her own notes, those she had constructed over the last ten days and added them to the back. That night she would go through them again and synthesise what she had. If Snape wasn't going to tell her what he wanted her to do after abducting her (for her own safety, she conceded) from the cottage to Harry's aunt and uncle's house then she would jolly well do as she pleased.

She opened the bottom drawer of the desk again and replaced the notebooks, her eyes coming to rest on the dictionary of scientists that had also come in the package. Well, that might come in useful she concluded, picking up the hardback and pulling it onto the bed. Perhaps Dudley could –

But whatever Dudley might have been able to do with the book was lost as a few sheets of parchment fell out from the back of the book. Cecilia stared at them for a few moments, waiting for the jolt of shock to pass so that she could take in the genuine signal that was passing from her eyes to her optic nerve to her cerebral cortex.

The werewolf notes. All of them. In their entirety.

They had not been in the back of that book for her hardback copy of the scientists' encyclopaedia she had left at Hogwarts, more precisely in the muggle studies classroom. When she had last seen the notes she had bundled them up with everything else and Snape had disapparated the lot.

In fact there was more information than she remembered for, at the bottom of one of the pages in Snape's distinctive handwriting, had been added a note which had not been there before. It told Cecilia that silver had adverse effects on werewolves and that were a werewolf to bite a muggle the muggle would die, they would not become a werewolf.

Cecilia stood up and paced over to the window of her room, looking down onto the beautifully manicured lawn. So, that was it. Whether by accident or design (and she suspected the latter: why else would he take the trouble to send them and add some more detail?) Severus had sent her the werewolf information. Was she to take it then that he wanted her to continue with it?

She returned to the desk, picking up the encyclopaedia from the bed and folding out the parchments onto the desktop. It was all there. Now all she had to do was –

Her mind leapt tangentially to her notebooks in the bottom drawer. Hadn't she tried a sublimation on the wolfsbane at some stage…? And…_hadn't the agent that had worked been_…silver nitrate…?

Taking the parchment with her Cecilia raced back downstairs, pacing in No. 4 Privet Drive's hallway as she waited for the computer to load up. She sat on the chair where Dudley had sat earlier and connected to the dial-up, feeling her heart beat heavily behind her ribs.

She found a search engine and typed in "silver". A few hundred thousand pages came up, mainly advertising jewellery. "Silver salts" she tried next and, as she waited for the hourglass to change back to the arrow cursor her mind recalled a memory, sudden and fleeting but Cecilia managed to catch hold of it.

In her mind's eye she recalled Remus helping her with the potion…he had left for work that morning and had commented that the solution he had been using the night before had affected him…made him feel weak…he had been using –

– silver nitrate. On the first page for her second search Cecilia read the name of the solution. It had been the one she had used for Harry's potion and in her lycanthropy research. She had used it because it had been to hand. Returning to the search page again she typed in the words "silver nitrate". Three hundred thousand pages. She clicked on the first.

It detailed the history of the compound which, in solution was a good chelating agent. It detailed other salts too, and the development of the inorganics industry as well as the common names and their use in complementary and alternative medicines.

Cecilia shuddered. As a chemist she hated common names. There was little to be discerned from knowing them, other than something about their discovery or use and hailed from an era where chemistry was more like biology and it was necessary to remember countless facts about the substances with which you were working, a very time consuming process and often irrelevant.

She continued to scroll down and she felt her pulse quicken when she came across a link which sent her to a histories page. Ignoring the spelling mistakes and seemingly random use of punctuation it informed the reader that, "regardless of how well modern medicine has been researched there is still room for error. If you blindly follow the pharmaceutical giants and line their pockets with gold you will overlook the natural remedies that have served our ancestors for centuries. Lunar caustic was once used in natural remedies as a ward to infectious diseases, becoming expensive when in competition with photographers of the nineteenth century, but fell out of use." At the bottom of the page was a footnote that informed the reader of the webpage that the modern name for lunar caustic was…

…silver nitrate…

Silver nitrate. This had to be the key, surely? Cecilia knew that it could convert some base protein isomers into their other geometric forms in its aquefied state…

…but that never happened in the body…

Rubbing her face with her hands Cecilia looked back at the common name for silver nitrate. Lunar caustic. A caustic solution could cause the build-up of water in certain areas, forcing it to coalesce. What if a similar effect caused pooling of water which…

…if silver nitrate were present…

…that affected proteins…

…and proteins of course, made up DNA…

…which, when altered in wizards caused transformations in form…

…through the "W" gene…

…which controlled the feedback mechanism in homeostasis (as determined in the Universal Link)…

…and, of course, the full moon affected water causing polarisation and tides…

The turning of the key in the door lock shook Cecilia from her train of thought and she leaned down and pulled the plug out of the wall before hurrying out of the cupboard and closing the door. The Dursley family were back.

That afternoon, while teaching Dudley about pressure and forces Cecilia's mind was not on teaching. As she hastily wrote down the fragments of thoughts that floated around her enlivened mind she longed to be with Severus Snape to discuss her astonishing revelation.

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In the cold light of early morning many months since the event an uncomfortable feeling sat in Ron Weasley's stomach like a solid block of stone. It was the same feeling he had had when he had broken his mother's hourglass that she used for casseroles when he was eight; the same feeling when he had realised that Scabbers was in fact not his life-long rodentine pet but the murderer of his friend's parents. And now it was the same feeling that he was experiencing staring at the few stolen pages from the now ex-notebooks that had once belonged to Cecilia Frobisher.

To be honest even to himself Ron could not possibly say why he had taken them, not as a rational thought either but now, standing with the smoking gun in his hands in front of his Weaslier elder brothers who had vastly more experience than he did for evading trouble (and thus knew all the tricks) he had to come up with something. In an effort to gain himself thinking time he looked at both Fred and George wordlessly.

"I think if it's a case of theft then we should be only right to report this theft to Professor McGonagall – " began George, looking at his brother.

" – or Dumbledore," added Fred glancing at Ron sharply. Unlike their usual manner Ron had only ever seen the twins so grave and remonstrative before and that had been to do with the aforementioned hourglass incident. "They might be important things that Mrs Frobisher _needs _Ron, for the potion. What if you've stopped it from working because you have the information they need?"

Ron felt his shoulders shrug. They were right, of course. But it had been an irresistible urge to have something of hers, taken a couple of days before the Great Battle, that had led him to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak without permission and stolen them for his own. He looked down at his hands, at the folded pages and a part of him cursed his brothers for being around at the same time he was when he couldn't sleep and wanted to look at them again.

"And we thought you were going out with Hermione," continued Fred, shaking his head. "She'll be devastated to know that you've got a thing for Mrs Frobisher still."

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" asked Ron in alarm. His twin brothers shook their heads synchronistically.

"No," conceded George, "that is, once you've given them to us for safekeeping, your conscience will be clear and there will be nothing to tell her."

Instinctively Ron held onto the pages a little tighter. They'd been his companions on nights when he couldn't sleep, when he had been thinking odd little thoughts about Hermione which he hadn't been able to decipher. They had reminded and drawn him into the muggle world, from the point of view of a muggle and it had fascinated him. He looked back at Fred and George, who looked at one another.

Too late Ron recognised the look, but before he could move out of the way of a low tackle from one of them he found himself wrestled to the becarpeted common room floor by both. Conceding (because both of his brothers together were quite weighty) he let go of the pages and George whipped them up.

"Don't tear it," moaned Ron as he clambered back up to his feet watching his brothers, now sitting on one of the settees, unfold the pages between themselves and stare at the content. Moments later both looked back at their immobile younger brother who was waiting for them to say something to him.

"What is it?" asked Fred eventually, holding up one of the pages for Ron to see. "They haven't even got any writing on at all." Ron sighed and walked nearer, pushing his brothers apart and sitting in the gap between them. Sometimes he was a martyr to his brothers' ignorance.

"Mrs Frobisher's drawings," he said as if that explained it and while his still-bemused brothers exchanged a confused glance he seized the pages from Fred's undefended grip.

"Oi!"

"Look!" replied Ron quickly in an effort to avoid another Weasley twin attack. "Here," he added, his tone less defensive and he pointed at the diagram that began the wordless train of thought.

"I once heard her say that Snape had said to her that muggles were like apes…that they could be trained to do the same things wizards did but they weren't superior."

"That's awful," commented George.

"Git," nodded Fred in agreement.

"I mean, I know we all think it deep down," added Ron nodding sagely, "because of the fact that we _can _do magic…anyway…" He pointed to the first drawing. I think she was probably getting back at him by drawing the ape at that typewriter-thingy, and there – " he pointed to another one of an ape standing up in front of a few rows of smaller apes holding what looked to be a piece of chalk. Behind the ape indecipherable words were scrawled on the blackboard, " – and there – " Ron indicated the drawing on the next page of numerous pieces of glass that were being used for potion-like goings on.

"It's quite funny in a sad sort of way," Ron concluded as he handed the pages, now purged of their secrets, back to Fred. "It's like she's saying, 'well, you might think of me like this, but look at what I can do'. And here," he took the pages from Fred's hand again, turning to the second page and pointing to the drawings of apes carrying out a variety of muggle tasks, "these can't even _be _her, so she's saying, 'look what we can do." There was a long pause, punctuated only by a look between the twins. And then, just as Ron was beginning to think that neither of them had heard him, George spoke.

"That is incredible," he said, smiling at Ron.

"You think so?" Ron beamed back; it was unusual to say the least when his twin brothers praised him for something.

"Absolutely. Incredible," concurred Fred. "Amazing." Ron's smile broke into a small laugh combining relief with liberation. His brothers understood and that was amazing.

"So incredible that our younger brother could be so stupid!" declared Fred, clipping Ron round the ear in unison with George. Both of them laughed as Ron howled in dismay and sprang to his feet.

"Well, Mrs Frobisher did draw them, and as you can see there's nothing about the potion," he shouted hotly, "so if you both don't mind I'll keep hold of these while I try and find out who the secret keeper is and then I'll send them to her. Maybe they'll cheer her up!" Turning on his heel Ron snatched up the pages, holding onto them tightly and was amazed to find that his transition between settee and stairs to the dormitories was being impeded by two large hands, one on each shoulder.

"Hold up," said Fred, letting Ron turn round. "We didn't know you felt that way about it."

"Well, I do," he retorted stiffly. Fred and George smiled and, arms under Ron's armpits they wizard-handled him back to the settee, sitting him between them as they had been moments before.

"That's actually quite a good idea, given the circumstances," said Fred, his voice barren of comedy or wit, instead a small measure of seriousness taking its place. "And, as it so happens we've been planning something of our own," he continued, tapping his nose and winking at George."

"Oh, really?" asked Ron defensively.

"Well, we couldn't leave the best teacher we've ever had alone out there in her own world, wherever she is, without letting her know she is still part of this one too." George leaned forward and smiled genuinely at his younger brother.

"So what's your plan?" asked Ron in anticipation.

"We've joined the Order," said Fred, tapping his nose again.

"First meeting was Monday."

"And…we know who the secret keeper is…"

"…who is it…?" prompted Ron quietly.

"A secret," confirmed George firmly.

"McGonagall," he prompted. The twins sat motionless and said nothing.

"Sirius…? Moody…?"

"Can't tell you, little bro," said Fred, shaking his head sadly.

"We have to stick to the rules that we swore to," continued George, patting Ron's shoulder.

"That'll be a first," said Ron cheekily, holding out the pages to Fred who glanced at George as a plan began to form wordlessly between them.

"Keep 'em," said Fred, pushing away his hand, "we were only kidding; you don't have to part with them if they mean something to you."

"I've got Hermione," said Ron, declaring it openly to his brothers and a roomful of pigmented ex-Gryffindors. "Though I do admire Mrs Frobisher. And if you can do something for her with this then…bloody brilliant!"

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A/N: Please tell me your views.


	14. Little Secrets

'

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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"I have to tell you Dora, I really don't understand it." Sirius handed the document back to Tonks and shook her head. It was very early on a Sunday morning and his cousin had arrived alight with excitement and enthusiasm.

It wasn't as if he didn't think it was useful or that, if she had arrived at a different time of day it would have made any difference. With the exception of the numbers at the bottom and along the side there was nothing to indicate the pattern on the paper was anything other than a collection of oblong blocks of a variety of thicknesses.

"How did you say you got it?" He handed her a cup of tea, which was a pretty mean hangover cure but one that would have to do. Sirius could hardly tell her that it was Remus's lupine nature and the fact that he was having to sleep in Regulus's room that was slowly starting to drive him mad. That, and his favourite hobby had been cut dead in one fell swoop.

"Shall I explain again, Sirius?" tutted Tonks irritably. Her hair was a dull sandy colour, reflecting a short temper caused by lack of sleep. Sirius recognised it immediately, but as a married woman he did not wish to question her too much. "You know I went incognito with Nick to work," she began, stirring a little sugar into her tea." She waited for him to nod which Sirius did, even though he didn't really know.

"Well, he was the one who did the original analysis on the hair samples for Cecilia, or provided the resources for her to do it, at any rate."

"Right, right," nodded Sirius, guessing where it was going. "The DNA traces." He glanced at the document again. Although he had heard so much about this of course he had never actually seen one. He had thought of asking Cecilia to see his own before but had never got round to it.

"Precisely. Nick thought it would be romantic to analyse mine, especially since I am a metamorphomagus."

"Yes," nodded Sirius, trying not to switch off. As much as he loved his cousin the story of her love life was a poor substitute to a warm if uncomfortable bed and the remedy of unconsciousness. "So how can I help?"

Tonks lifted up her head and looked at her cousin, her eyes lighted up in the same way as he used to see her about his friend. She _was_ in love with Nick, this he knew. He also knew that Andromeda was not about to argue with the mode or method of her daughter's marriage, considering her own marriage to Ted Tonks had taken place under the similar circumstances.

"Dad got annoyed when I asked him…you know what he's like about it all…I think he's got more sensitive in his old age. Mum loves him, whatever…but I'd like to know…" Sirius nodded slowly. So that was what she meant. She wanted to know about her father's disability. Of course it would make a difference to her at some stage in her life and though Andromeda and Ted had not kept his very limited magical ability a secret her need to know now was probably not motivated just because Tonks herself had married. Sirius knew how much the Order meant to his cousin, how her involvement in the resistance against Voldermort was so personal to her _because_ of her family.

Slowly Sirius extended a hand across the warming glow that was re-radiating from the wooden table and took Tonks's free one. She smiled a cute smile, like the ones that she used to when she was a young girl, especially when there might have been sweets or ice cream in the offing.

"What about Freya?" asked Sirius quietly. "How is she?"

"She seems to be fine," nodded Tonks slowly. "A few times I've heard her talking about mudbloods and muggles in her sleep – "

" – good old Mother – "

" – I mean, I know that I went off and took her with me but…what other option was there? I couldn't leave her here, as you so rightly pointed out. She needed to be in a muggle environment, well, that's what I thought anyway. Nick has her in the day, and I look after her at night, though when it's a shift night for the Order or work I take her to mum's." She looked across at Sirius and her face fell grave. "She calls out in her sleep for her mum," Tonks admitted, "and for father, and Cecilia. Sometimes it's heartbreaking and I do wonder what we will do in the long term. I mean, she's eight. She's got the rest of her life to go. We'll enrol her in a muggle school later on, but…well…I don't know what's best for her…"

"It's good of you to take her," said Sirius nodding slowly. "Remus wanted to take her back to Cecilia you know."

"Did he?" asked Tonks in surprise. "I didn't know that. But then when I heard about the ministry's raid on the cottage…"

"Of course!" declared Sirius, shaking his head. "You weren't there for the last Order meeting, were you?" Tonks stared back at him, as if the answer to his question was obvious. "Percy Weasley apparently led the attack…"

"No!" exclaimed Tonks, putting her hand to her mouth. "I bet Molly had something to say about that!"

"She wasn't best pleased," Sirius continued with a chuckle. "Nor Arthur. There's another one tonight, will you be able to make it?" Tonks shook her head.

"I'll report back anything we discuss," assured Sirius. "If last week was anything to go by our floo connection will be busy for a while. I know Snape had a few awkward questions to answer about his involvement in Cecilia's flight with the ministry." And then there was Moony…

"Bet he slipped his way out of trouble, the greasy git," replied Tonks automatically. She caught the expression on Sirius's face and frowned. "What?"

"He stopped Cecilia being befuddled, Tonks," chided Sirius sharply. "He is on out side." Tonks said nothing. Things really must have changed for her cousin not to take the opportunity to slate his long-standing enemy. Instead of replying she began to fold the document…clearly Sirius wasn't going to be much help to her. Before she could though, Sirius took it from her.

"Why are you so interested, anyway? I mean, does it really matter that Uncle Ted's lost some of his powers?" The look of indignation on Tonks's face was enough to tell Sirius that it did. He looked opened the document and looked at the strange marks again, tracing his fingers over them with interest.

"So this is you," he said thoughtfully. "All these little bars representing what makes you you…"

"I _would_ ask Cecilia, if we knew where she was…" she caught Sirius's eye and held his gaze. It took some effort not to look away.

"_Do_ you know?" Sirius shook his head.

"There is one person who is the secret-keeper, and it's for her own safety." He watched his cousin put on an excellent pout.

"She _is_ safe, then," Tonks added, picking up her teacup draining it of the now-tepid tea before sighing heavily. "I was looking forward to going shopping with her…choose a wedding dress, that sort of thing…"

"Well, seeing as she is still wizard enemy number one I don't think they'd be getting married for a while," said Sirius, his head pulsing as he folded up the document.

"Hm," sighed Tonks, getting to her feet. "I'll have to wait to indulge my girly side then," she added, taking the DNA trace from her cousin. "Either that or a few years for when Freya becomes a teenager and we can hit the shops."

Sirius smiled. For his cousin to have accepted Cecilia was going to marry Moony meant she had clearly long got over her feelings for him. Images of their muggle fleeted across his hindbrain. He had too…

"What'm I going to do with this?" exclaimed Tonks, not to Sirius or anyone in general, she was just stating the facts. "Its no use without dad…he's sensitive enough about it all as it is…I mean, he went to Hogwarts and everything…but now… he only has to look at a bottle of muggle medicine and he gets a cold…he had a touch of new-moania the other day…mum was really worried…he gets ill really easily. The healer said it's because he lost his most of his powers and she couldn't use magical medicine on him."

Tonks's face exhibited her worry as her bobbed air began to bend and twist as if it had taken on a serpentine theme. "He had to send his wand for destruction and sign up to the Wizard Secrecy Act! It's all so worrying…" Her voice trailed off when she caught Sirius's expression.

"What's the matter? You're not yourself. Did I call at a bad time?" Sirius attempted a smile. His headache was beginning to smart.

"It's fine. Just getting used to a different bed. You know, I never thought I'd miss my old room. But Moony's taken a liking to it, and in his state I don't want to disturb him."

Tonks didn't ask. She didn't need to: she had heard how badly Remus had taken the news of Cecilia being spirited away from Molly Weasley. Clearly she hadn't had the face to tell her about the involvement of her no. 3 son.

"He's definitely the one for you, this muggle?" asked Sirius, nodding slowly. "You'll have to bring him round."

"I did consider getting him inducted into the Order," mused Tonks lightly. "I mean, we've already had one. But then, considering what's happened to her…" she paused, "…and of course we have Freya." She got to her feet. "Thanks for the tea. I suppose I'd better wait for all of this then to go away before I can get this sorted. Nick's fantastic, but he doesn't have Cecilia's experience. I do miss her," she added wistfully as Sirius rose tentatively.

"So, you know my secret now," she concluded, a twinkle taking up residence in her eye as her now-straight hair turned pastel-pink. "It's time for you to tell me yours."

"What?" The alarm in Sirius's voice startled even him. "No, I've got no secret."

"Come on, Sirius, I've seen that look before!" she declared, her memory scrolling back to her childhood when he had bathed James in the same mysterious glow as he was giving her now.

"Why is it you so want these things looked at, anyway? How's this going to help anything?"

"I'm serious about him, okay?" replied Tonks defensively. "And besides, I have another here, one of Dad's." She laid a second document, not dissimilar to the first one she had shown him onto the table. Sirius nodded as a plan for assisting his cousin began to formulate in his red-raw mind.

"Leave it with me, little Dora," he said, taking both documents from her. "I think I know what I can do…"

If Tonks had taken offence at Sirius calling her by the nickname he had used when she was a child she didn't show it. Instead she walked around the kitchen table and hugged her older cousin tightly.

_I_ don't understand it, he confirmed silently, hugging Tonks back as he looked over her shoulder at both of the documents, but I know a wizard who does. But I won't be owling for his help until I've had at least a half a dozen more hours sleep.

88888888

The wizard that did was, at the present time, in the process of blending a batch of potion which might well be _the_ potion. Severus Snape should not have been surprised that Cecilia Frobisher had made such progress: her analytical skills and ability to discriminate between important and irrelevant factors were incredibly high and alone she had made good progress.

She probably would have made _great_ progress were she have been allowed to return to Hogwarts to work with him and now she was imprisoned with Petunia Dursley's family and unable to assist with anything. There was nothing of practical or academic value in the package he had sent her, just hope.

Snape had been up for most of the night, as he had done each night for the last week. With the new muggle studies teacher on the prowl he dared not risk blending the potion right in front of her nose, even if she was so half-soaked that she would probably have believed that he was preparing an experimental batch for use in a NEWT lesson. The operative word was _probably_. There was something about Tabitha Penwright, behind the near-transparency of her appearance and demeanour that indicated she wasn't a fool. She wouldn't be a Mysteriour if she were.

So the early hours of the morning were the only available hours when he knew that he wouldn't be disturbed. And now, with a pair of identical potions before him, Snape also knew that the investment in his time was not wasted. He was close to perfection: like an emotion or insight he could feel that he was right. But he also knew that he needed to check.

Facts, not opinions, as his dear father used to say. Who would ever have known one of Tobias Snape's sober insights into the world would have affected him so profoundly?

Looking back at the potions before him he heard the school clock chime six. Both were identical in terms of their makeup, each comprised of ingredients both alike in quantity as well as type. However there was one fundamental difference. The one on the right was inert and sterile, made by a blend of top-notes and base by Cecilia Frobisher had made. The other he had made and had yielded an almost one hundred percent success rate with the thirteenth generation of the original flobberworms, that is, few had perished under the Avada Kedavra curse. That was the premise and now all he needed to do was to carry out the laborious task of proving it.

Nevertheless Snape knew that he was close but the question was just _how_ close. Even a slight change in the recipe blend had made a great deal of difference to the frequency and wavelength and as such Snape's emphasis was now on the premise of a continuum between people rather than the construct of the potion itself, something which would require careful deliberation before he proceeded much further.

Growling aloud he pondered the limiting factors of the work. He had to perform the scientific analysis which, without Cecilia's advice could sometimes be tricky. In addition he had to liaise with Potter. A part of Severus Snape resented Lupin for stealing her away. A big part.

The other limiting factor of course was the premise of a continuum at all. But he was working on that and it wouldn't take long for him to discover if it made a difference to what they already had, laid out before him now, and how big that difference would be.

Taking up two glass slides from the case in the corner of the teacher's room in the potions classroom he began to add a representative sample of both blends to each one, recalling the previous evening, when he had to endure Potter's presence with him as he carried out the range of test spells with which he and Cecilia had agreed would expose the potion to the range of frequencies and wavelengths the finished potion would need to be robust enough to withstand. And he had grown increasingly infuriated by Potter's unrelenting questioning, as embodied by the conversation he was forced to endure the previous evening.

Snape's mind rewound to a twelve hours earlier in this very room and at the same time the same recollection sprang to Harry's mind. Unlike Snape however Harry was sitting by the newly elf-laid fire and he was staring into the hypnotic flames

"Even if I knew do you believe I wouldn't tell you?" Snape had roared when Harry had complained that he would have to recount everything to Tabitha Penwright.

"It's just…I don't think I can depend on anything any more if she's not involved in the potion," Harry had declared sullenly. "Can't I just tell Professor Penwright that you'll tell her what she doesn't need to know?"

"No, Potter, you cannot! Your problem is, as always, your inability to persevere when things do not fall in your own favour. I recall a time when you thought about Mrs Frobisher as you do Professor Penwright. This time, as long as you can remember what you said before you'll be out of there in half the time." Harry remembered Snape staring into the fire rather than at him and he had wondered just what it was his potions teacher was thinking.

"It's just…I enjoyed helping her Professor, for what it's worth. It felt I was doing something useful."

"Well go and do something useful now – " Snape continued to stare into the fire.

" – and, I miss her being here – "

He remembered that Snape had become immobile before turning slowly and eyed him malevolently. For a split second Harry had been convinced that Snape was going to go for him.

"What you mean is that you prefer her to Professor Penwright," said Snape had replied gloweringly. "She would be infinitely more preferable than anyone from the Ministry. Now go! Before you make me do something to you I won't regret."

When Harry stepped outside and the door slammed shut behind him forcefully a shadow of uneasiness had crept upon him. Even now, in the early hours of the morning in the deserted common room, at a time when he was ordinarily most at peace Harry was still ill at ease and the sight that had passed though his mind, fleetingly as he glanced back through the classroom door.

And, as he had done the first time round Harry shelved the image, raw and unanalysed, and made his way down to the kitchens for an early breakfast.

88888888

It was their second meeting and already Fred and George Weasley were beginning to get excited. Not excited in a child-like expectant way: they were too old for that. But the atmosphere that was beginning to grow around them as if the building itself was infused with anticipation infiltrated their already energized minds.

Crossing the Edgestones and disapparating out of the castle grounds the twins realised that they were a good deal early for the meeting and so, after alerting their mother to their presence proceeded to find Sirius to share with him their idea and, possibly, ask for his advice.

Their mission was unsuccessful: Sirius appeared to be absent from 12, Grimmauld Place, an event which as extraordinarily uncommon. Instead, finding the study empty they took up squatters' rights within laying out the comic-strip drawings that they had fashioned based upon Cecilia's own semi-political doodles.

It was shaping up nicely: they had already finished one strip, four boxes long punning muggle-wizard relations and they had come up with a catchy title so a theme could be built around them. "Fallen Ape" was into its second strip but the twins were stuck, not on the thread of the storyline but how they were going to get the comics to Cecilia Frobisher when no-one but Snape knew where she was and, as secret-keeper, he wasn't telling.

It was this bone of contention that the twins were picking at when they were joined by a fellow Order member, whose presence would have probably gone un-noticed had he not leaned between them and picked up the first strip.

"Professor Lupin!" Fred and George exclaimed together. "Hello!"

"Hello yourselves," he replied, looking over the drawing. "And what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Sirius," explained Fred. "We wanted to ask him if he – "

" – if we could borrow his study," interrupted George quickly, watching Remus carefully. "Just to discuss our ideas." They watched Remus as he raised his eyebrows and put down the comic strip, smiling between each of them.

"How are you feeling, Professor?" asked Fred, changing the subject as George tidied away both their and Cecilia's sketches. "We were sorry to see how unwell you were."

"There's really no need to call me Professor," replied Remus kindly, putting his hands on the twins' shoulders. "I've not taught you for nearly two years. As you're in the Order now I think you have earned the right to call me Remus." The twins broke into twin grins which Remus matched with his own. "And as for my health, I am heartened to know that you care. I am, as you can see much better, thanks to Severus." The twins exchanged doubtful glances.

"Oh indeed," countered Remus, stepping away from Fred and George as he caught the look. "Had he not made the wolfsbane potion for me I might well have remained in that awful state of a week ago, and had not Dumbledore found me in the Grampian Mountains I might – " He broke off, mindful of his audience and smiled at the twins.

"I have to admit, I do see what Cecilia was talking about when she said you had real talent for comedy," he added, gesturing towards the coffee table upon which the twins had laid out their drawings. "The first was really funny; what's your market, the Prophet?" Nodding synchronistically the twins said nothing.

"We can see that you miss her," said Fred after a pause.

"We do too," added George. "Muggle Studies just isn't the same."

Through the mask of pain and anguish that the twins had recalled seeing upon Lupin's face before, when they had spoken to him in the Herbology garden at Hogwarts, when Cecilia was unconscious after the Great Battle, Remus Lupin managed a smile.

"She always spoke very highly of your abilities," he added wanly. "Cecilia always had the insight to see beyond what was in front of her and – " Lupin broke off, sinking into one of the study's wing backed chairs. After a second's silent acknowledged agreement the twins crossed the floor, conjuring a pair of chairs either side of Remus and sat upon them, smiling.

"The way we see it," began George, "is that, if the soon-to-be-Mrs Lupin were to have stayed at your home, she still wouldn't be there now because our big stupid tight-ars – "

" – fisted brother," interrupted Fred. George nodded at his brother in thanks.

"…tight-fisted brother of ours would have befuddled her and taken her away to Merlin knows where," continued George matter-of-factly. "Azkaban, maybe."

"Absolutely," concurred Fred. "And, like she isn't with you know, she still wouldn't be, but at least she still has all her marbles." Despite his distress Remus Lupin couldn't contain a chuckle.

"And even if the slippery git took her away somewhere safe – "

" – that no-one else knows about, then at least soon-to-be-Mrs Lupin knows that she's soon to be Mrs Lupin and not just another boring muggle."

"It's like you said before, when we, er, gave Sirius the Veritaserum and Professor Snape stopped him from killing her the first time," continued George, revealing to Remus if he didn't know already, that most of the goings on at Number Twelve did not go un-noticed. "You said – "

" – that Harry taking the potion was for the greater good," finished Remus firmly. "It's what the Order stands for, what it has always done. The greater good being the defeat of Lord Voldermort. But we've never had the ministry interfering before. Oh lads," he sighed, looking between the two grave faces of the wonderful Weasley twins, over whose japes and pranks he had chortled and chuckled quietly to himself, who he had watched mature into two Overage scallywags with hearts of gold, "I just want her back. I should be fighting for her…I cannot."

"Then be the ape," said George as Fred unfolded the drawings. "The ape," he repeated as Fred held Cecilia's original pages in front of Remus who snatched them from his unresisting hand. Staring at them momentarily he looked between the twins again in confusion.

"The ape is misunderstood. He cannot communicate. But he represents resilience, no matter what is thrown at him."

"Often matter, for that matter," quipped George. "Or bananas, or insults, or jibes. But he never stops being the ape. You can keep those, by the way."

"Your originals?" asked Remus, taken aback. "Lads, I wouldn't hear of it."

"They're not ours," replied Fred as the candlelight reflected from the outlines of the original, ape with typewriter, but our inspiration.

"Who did them?" He looked at George for revelation but the young wizard simply tapped the side of his nose.

"Trade secret," they said in unison.

"But if it helps, they are one cool – "

" – wizard," interrupted Fred hastily. Remus Lupin did not seem to notice, however. Instead he was looking at the drawings.

"Do you still love her?" George asked bluntly to a rather shocked wizard. Remus looked between him and Fred.

"By the way, we stand by our warning," George continued as they stood up in unison and he disapparated the chairs, "that if you leave it too late with the soon-to-be-Mrs Lupin then we'll have no choice but to make our move." Remus nodded slowly.

"I understand the gravity of the situation entirely," he confirmed solemnly, and have only one thing to say in reply." The twins froze waiting for Lupin, his eyes twinkling in new-found mischief, to continue. "I am still potty for her."

An hour later and the twins were taking their seats in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, having carefully stowed away their cartoons. Sirius made a reappearance as did the rest of the Order. Much of the meeting seemed to consist of the wizards and witches having been on a variety of duties and, under the oath they had sworn to Dumbledore, they resisted the urge to occupy themselves in more amusing ways. Soon after the meeting was finished they were approached by their mother.

"I am _so_ proud of you," she began, hugging both twins one over either shoulder. "All my of-age children members of the Order, oooh!" she exclaimed, continuing to hold onto them tightly.

"So am I," said Mr. Weasley hovering close to his wife as their twin sons pulled out of their mother's embrace. "I have to admit, we thought that you'd be taking this a lot less seriously than you are," he smiled proudly. "I'm glad to say," Arthur Weasley looked between them, "I was wrong."

"Then, you know that we'd do anything we could to help," said Fred, taking one arm of their father and walking him with George out of the kitchen.

"Like, if we knew how to make something just that little bit better, you'd approve, right Dad?" George gave his father a brilliant grin.

"Okay lads, what's going on?" Arthur Weasley made his way towards the door of the hall, out of the way of his wife. He needn't have worried; as soon as the twins had engaged him in conversation Molly Weasley was fussing over the supper that she had prepared for the Order after the meeting.

"Look at these," said Fred, extracting their cartoons from under his jumper, nodding slowly.

"They're – " began George but their father interrupted them.

"Rather strange," finished Arthur Weasley looking at the drawings. "A joke, yes? _I_ don't get it, but…"

"But _Mrs Frobisher_ will," continued Fred, tapping his nose and winking at George.

"…Mrs Frobisher…?"

"We want to send them to her," explained George slowly. "We just don't want to have to ask Snape about it."

"Snape?" asked Arthur, looking between his sons. "You want Snape to send these to Cecilia Frobisher?" As the parent who could handle the twins Mr. Weasley was at a loss as to what to say. He looked at his sons' eager faces and smiled slowly.

"Why is it that you think Mrs Frobisher would want these?"

"Because they're _hers_, Dad," explained Fred earnestly, "we were inspired by her originals – "

" – which Remus Lupin's got, but don't tell him," chipped in George. "Do you think _you_ could speak to Snape?"

"My sons," said Mr Weasley, handing back Fred the comic strips and shaking his head slowly. "I am absolutely delighted that you want to help out, I really am, but – " He saw their faces fall.

"But she's all alone out there, wherever she is!" insisted George as his twin nodded in agreement. "Thinking we're all against her, with only muggles for company, thinking she's abandoned! She'll be lonely and frightened, and missing Remus. These'll make her a little bit happier!"

"Snape won't send these to Mrs Frobisher," Arthur Weasley continued steadily, pulling out his wand from inside his robe and swishing it quickly. "Colloportus!" The twins watched the bolt slide inside the door and the wizard who was about to open it rattled the door, annoyed.

"I think what you've done here is terrific but there's more than one way to skin a gnat. It might be deemed as misuse but listen…?" And as the wizard began to hammer on the spell-sealed door Mr Weasley began to whisper to his sons.

88888888

She couldn't tell anyone, she mustn't. That was what Professor Umbridge had said before departing. Umbridge had appeared when Professor Penwright had been checking on her punishment and the large witch took had taken her to one side…

Why had she opened her big mouth in Muggle Studies? Here she was, on elf work for a fortnight and Penwright had to introduce her to Umbridge. The Undersecretary to Minister Fudge had arrived late the previous day demanding the best accommodation and a tour of the school. Seeing as few lessons were on during a Saturday evening and Sunday Hermione had wondered why she had bothered. Clearly the welfare and education of the students was not her main priority.

Hermione shuddered as she made her way back towards the Gryffindor common room. Darkness had set in about an hour ago; it was late on Monday night and she should have been back in bed but the quiet word that Umbridge had had with her had been a cause of perturbation.

It was her shame, or pride, that had caused Hermione to spend the day avoiding her friends: Harry obviously cared but Ron, well –

– well, he cared too; they had been coming up with ingenious ways to meet up with her during her punishment work, and it had been fun. Tonight though, she had come up with ingenious excuses for them to keep away from her.

Hermione knew that one or both of them would realise something was wrong eventually. She had spent most of that day's muggle studies lesson at the back of the classroom with her head on the desk, her mind filled with a guilt which she couldn't express.

How had they found out?

Would she be expelled?

These disturbing questions filled Hermione's head as she paced along the corridor towards the library. It was dark and cold, but the environment was of little concern to her. She had contemplating speaking to the McGonagall but she knew that she would be angry as well and she couldn't face them all being angry with her…telling Ron and Harry was out of the question…

Heading back towards the common room Hermione prayed for it to be empty. There she could sit, hypnotised by the flames and will her most dreadful actions to go away. Part of her wished that she had the time turner that McGonagall had given to her a couple of years ago, then she could have returned to that point in time and make everything all right again.

Negotiating past the Fat Lady (who had been instructed to leave students out of the Gryffindor common room who were out at night) she saw that the settee nearest the fireplace was unoccupied. One or two Gryffindors were still up, one sitting propped against the sandstone blocks that made up the wall; another sat on a chair in the corner near the stairs, a large book propped against bent knees.

Hermione moved the settee around so that it faced the fire and so that when she lay on it no-one could see her. And there she lay for a good half an hour, recalling event-by-event the happenings of the evening. She might well have stayed there all night had a student not nearly sat on her in the semi-darkness and she yelped in surprise as Parvati Patil leaped away from her legs. She sat up, realising they were all alone.

"Sorry!" exclaimed Parvati as Hermione swung her legs underneath her. "I didn't think anyone was here."

"Me neither," replied Hermione stiffly, trying to disguise the pent up distress that she was feeling. It didn't work. Before Parvati had managed to think of the next sentence to say she took in the expression on Hermione's face: drawn (by a very bad artist), pale and tense.

"I've noticed you've not been yourself recently, Hermione. Would it help to tell me what's wrong?"

As rule Hermione preferred the company of Harry and Ron; they were her friend and her boyfriend but she couldn't tell them. Although she had Ginny to talk to the emotional support had tended to be Ginny needing and Hermione giving and Hermione doubted whether Ron's sister would be the right person to talk to about this.

…she couldn't speak up…but she need to tell someone…

"What is it?" said Parvati, looking worried. Whatever it is, you can tell me, Hermione. Is it Ron? I notice you've been avoiding him. Has he been wanting to get too…you know…" Hermione shook her head.

"It's something I'm having difficulty admitting even to myself," she said eventually, clasping her hands together in anxiety. "A fatal error of judgment which has caused goodness knows what harm and damage…and then there's the muggle laws…" Parvati nodded empathetically.

"They've been round to Grandma's. They went through her books and modified her memory. Mum and Dad were furious when they got back, and when the permits arrived and the letter…

Hermione, you've got to admit, even you can make mistakes…everyone does."

"But the consequences of this!" she shook her head and stared into her lap, feeling the tears spring to her eyes. "Curse them all! That damned Umbridge woman! And her pet poodle Penwright! And myself for letting myself be fooled that here was all safe…" Parvati said nothing but instead leaned across and took Hermione by the hand.

"She's good at mind games, I'll give you that," Parvati agreed. "Padma's still angry about her making her admit Gran's a muggle. She thinks she's to blame," she added, feeling Hermione shaking with anger. "I bet she tricked you into telling a secret too." Hermione found herself nodding in vehement agreement and grimaced at Parvati.

"And now there's someone who will get into trouble because of it, big trouble…who's connected with all this security stuff! Just because I wanted to improve my understanding! Just because I wanted to admit there was more out there than what they want us to believe. And what they're drip-feeding us with in muggle studies! How can people want to willingly and determinedly blind people from the truth just because they themselves are scared! It's not right, Parvarti!" Hermione clamped her mouth shut and looked away from the girl, who was still holding her hand, into the fireplace and she felt the shame and disgrace fall about her like a veil, betraying her guilt in the form of a flushed, angry face.

"I don't have much of a clue what you're talking about," said Parvarti kindly. "But if it's any consolation, the truth always comes out in the end; it can't be hidden for long. And from what I know of you Hermione, you've not got a bad bone in your body; you wouldn't deliberately go out and hurt someone."

Hermione smiled, wishing not for the first time that she had a people-person streak like other girls.

"Why don't you talk it over with Ron?" Hermione nodded again, thanking Parvati for listening. Once the girl had gone she got up from the settee and made her way towards the stairs that led to the dormitories, praying that he wouldn't be there.

Parvati, I hope he sees I like you do.

88888888

Silver Nitrate. AgNO3. More commonly known as Lunar Caustic.

Cecilia turned in her bed as she imagined the atomic diagram of the molecule, described in dot-and-cross format. Since her brief revelation about the nature and nomenclature of the otherwise innocuous compound the previous day she had not been able to disconnect it from lycanthropy.

The idea had bothered and irked her, so much so that she had to set something complex for Dudley Dursley to complete so that she would have to give his confusion her utmost attention. It was either that or declare to the Dursleys that, well actually, she would be rather developing a cure for her fiancé who had a slight wolfish problem than teaching their irascible son anything that would cause him to fall into the condition called thinking. The other thing that had bothered and irked Miss Cecilia Jane Wells was the unwanted attention that she had been receiving from Vernon Dursley and she had also found the bolt on the door to be a handy when it came to being unpleasantly disturbed during the night.

It was not yet six that Monday morning, twelve days since she had left the cottage but now, lying awake under the thin duvet in the dawnlight Cecilia was thinking things over. Having already detailed what she knew and also her suppositions about the compound and its relationship with lycanthropy she was itching to get back to it, knowing the narcotic feeling of usefulness would soothe her longing to be away from Privet Drive.

And then there was Harry's potion. She would need more hair to confirm the premise that she had had since she had been the cottage that, of course, and a lab equipped with an analyser, several centrifuges and some auto-chromatography plates.

Turning over in bed her mind fell onto the conversation that she and the Dursleys had had the previous evening. On Wednesday they would be taking Dudley and his friend Piers to the Natural History museum to look at the science exhibits. To their delight (and from their point of view) Dudley was excelling at the subject and had taken a keen interest. The latter was indeed true: Dudley's interest had been sparked to some extent although for the most part he was the epitome of teenage boy with the sullen, immature attitude.

Cecilia had praised Mrs Dursley for enriching Dudley's education; once she had taken it in Cecilia had already decided that it was the perfect opportunity to continue undisturbed with her research into both of her projects however Mr Dursley had declared that she must come with them, and he wouldn't hear of her being left behind.

"Well, of course, we wanted to buy six tickets but we could only get five; Dudley wanted to bring another friend from school, didn't you love?" Mrs Dursley had nodded at her son, who nodded slowly. "Why couldn't he make it?"

"Daz, Chree and Elrick all wanted to come," Dudley had huffed in disgust before folding his arms firmly.

"You know our car only holds five!" had declared Mr Dursley. "So five it is, isn't that right?" He had looked across to Mrs Dursley who was nodding her head slowly and shallowly.

Well, as long as she avoided being alone with Mr Dursley by sticking with Mrs Dursley and not getting sidetracked then she would have a fighting chance of remaining umolested. And besides, Cecilia thought getting comfortable in bed, she might even come across information about wolves, and about silver, and about a possible comparison between malaria.

That was Wednesday. Today was Monday. Later on this morning Mr Dursley would be driving Dudley back to boarding school and a part of her wished she could ask him to take her with him…to find a way of contacting Remus with the muggle-friendly floo powder that she had inadvertently brought with her (but was traceable and would have got them both into a lot of trouble). She would risk the Dursley creep for even one chance of talking to, seeing, being with her Remus…

...each morning she had woken up, in a cloud of post-slumber anaesthesia, allowing the day to filter in…

…each morning she had fantasised…hoped…dreamed…today could be the day she could go back…today…

…today someone would come from the Order…Fletcher…Tonks…she would see them walking up Privet Drive through the living room window and she would know that they were here for her, to take her back. They would knock on the door and tell her, faces bright, mouths smiling, that they would (insert mode of wizard transport here) back to the Cottage…

…another permutation was of Snape, apparating into the dining room as she was teaching Dudley, befuddling the Dursleys…

…or Sirius, who had turned out to be more of a friend than she would have given him credit for given his past behaviour, bringing Remus with him, smiling contentedly as he floo'd them both away…away together…somewhere safe…

At first, when she had first got to Privet Drive the shock had been such that Cecilia had not thought about the manner in which she would return but as the days progressed she found herself ever more thinking of wilder and bolder ways that she could leave…

…but of course she couldn't, not until the dangers had passed, until Dumbledore had sorted something out, until the Ministry of Magic weren't looking for her any more…

It was when she had gone downstairs three nights ago and had begun to pick up the telephone, intent on calling the operator to find out her mother's phone number in Scotland that she knew that she had to focus on something. That something had been both strands of research which, if she was not very much mistaken she would be able to continue with...

"…I'd love to show you some more chemical reactions!" enthused Cecilia two hours later as they had breakfast together, "its such a shame you do them at school and I'm just your tutor…" She could tell Dudley wasn't listening to her; his eyes were fixed on the plate of bacon, egg, sausage and black pudding that his mother had lain before him.

"Answer Miss Wells, Dudley," commented Mr Dursley, looking down over his newspaper. Ignoring the sharp look from his wife Vernon Dursley continued to stare at his son before flicking a look at Cecilia and smiling oiliy.

"'spose," muttered Dudley, looking at her too. "I hate science."

"No you don't, you love it," cooed his mother soothingly. To his credit Dudley turned to his mother who was standing to his left and smiled.

"Yes, Mother," he replied, nodding obligingly.

"And once I've taken you to school son, your mother and I will be going into town to shop for your birthday presents." At this, Petunia Dursley smiled at him and nodded, before nodding back to Dudley.

"We'll get everything you want, darling," she added affectionately, "…the games for your computer…the albums…the clothes…"

"So when is your birthday?" asked Cecilia, joy overwhelming her and she fought to keep it in. At last…her research…uninterrupted…

"Eighteenth of July," replied Dudley automatically. Plenty of time for _you_ to get me something too."

Another two hours later and Cecila was immersed in her work. She had managed to pin down a good summary of what she had been focusing on for almost a fortnight and a couple of months before that, based on her continuum theory. If she was right, and all secondary evidence bore this out, then there should only be a very small number of ingredients of the correct frequency that could be used. Breaking the analysis down to three, perhaps four combinations, with the base and top notes of number 30 and Snape should have hit upon the most suitable blend in less than a fortnight.

Well, that depended on whether he had got the same answer as she had; it should have been likely, but then…he had had some problems interpreting the meiotic genesis patters and cross-referencing them with the homeostatic feedback mechanism. For the hundredth time at least since she had arrived at Privet Drive Cecilia wished she was back at Hogwarts.

Getting up from behind the dining room table she made her way over to the kettle, filled it with water and switched it on. While she waited for the water to boil Cecilia reflected on how easily she had slipped back into the muggle world. Boiling a kettle not with wizard-metabolised energy but with electricity; transport by good old-fashioned petrol and internal combustion instead of green, nausea-inducing powder; lighting via 40-watt tungsten filament rather than wax and tallow. Perhaps not so strange after all…

…steam from the kettle began to fill the kitchen as Cecilia dissolved back to the muggle here and now, making herself some tea. With teabags, she noted as she dropped one into a mug, rather than leaves, just as it should be, with no wish to divine the future after she had enjoyed the beverage.

Taking it upstairs with her Cecilia returned back downstairs in order for the second of her projects to be recommenced. She wanted to look up some more information about Lunar Caustic using the Dursley's Internet connection and discern whether it might have any influence on the potion that Snape might one day produce for Remus. Little time was afforded to her second pursuit however, despite her focus on the moon's cycles, where it was at its furthest and nearest to the Earth and its affect on the spring and neap tides when her mind wandered back to the first as a thought struck her…

…she still remembered the secret address that Dumbledore had told her to give to her family to use if they wished to contact her when she was at Hogwarts. And, were she to send something to Snape using the address…such as…

…closing down the computer Cecilia crept upstairs and along the landing towards the master bedroom of the house. It would be a shameful waste of an opportunity not to send Severus another sample of Petunia Dursley's DNA. Would they to have been working on a premise that was flawed it would have been disastrous. He needn't have it tested scientifically merely watch the response of the matter under the pressure of magical spells through a microscope, the technique that had she had fashioned when she had begun to work with Snape at Hogwarts the previous night.

She opened the door to Ha – her bedroom, pulling out some paper and a biro from the drawer that was by the bed before sitting on the chair by the desk. Cecilia began straight away, with her premise about Petunia Dursley, put plainly and openly in context with a continuum rather than absolutes.

"The sample enclosed should be sufficient in quantity for a second test to be carried out to corroborate the first findings." There. She had been vague enough so that if the letter was intercepted and read by anyone other than Dumbledore or Snape then it would have little meaning to them.

Looking back over the words Cecilia folded the paper in two, fumbling in the bottom drawer for another page from her notebook which she then fashioned into an envelope. And now for the sample, she thought, looking at the door to her room through which she would head in order to enter Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's bedroom to find a hair sample.

A few moments later and Cecilia had the handle of the aforementioned door in her grip. Heart beating and palms becoming clammy her mind began to focus on her goal; she must find Petunia Dursley's hairbrush and extract a few strands which she would slot into the envelope that she had in her other hand before addressing it to Dumbledore and surreptitiously posting it on a future occasion.

Before opening the door however Cecilia paused, scuttling across to Dudley's room. If she was going to send Petunia Dursley's hair then she could also send some of her son, giving Snape the opportunity to glean further information and conclusions from the unexpected resource. Cecilia tried to ignore the adolescent boy smell that seemed to be coming from a pile of clothes in the corner of the room and instead sought a source of DNA; hair would be the matter of choice.

She didn't have to look far: on the top of a chest of drawers a comb betrayed the user: Dudley had had it in his hand when he had come out of the bathroom two mornings ago and in between its teeth dark brown hair the same colour as his mother's was imprisoned. Liberating a couple of strands Cecilia held them in her palm and swiftly left planet Teenager, encasing them in a few sheets of soft, strong toilet paper (Petunia Dursley bought Andrex without fail) from the bathroom, before taking another few sheets.

Part one of two having been completed Cecilia crept into Mr. and Mrs Dursley's room. Trying not to think of either of them as she stepped across rose-pink carpet towards Petunia's dressing table by the window she sought similar hair strands to those that she had removed from her son's comb and she put down the letter now containing one hair sample on the dressing table.

…powder, perfume, mirror…all of these were here, but no hairbrush…

Tentatively Cecilia eased open the slim centre drawer taking care not to jerk it and cause the contents to come out her eyes scanned the contents in search of her quarry. No hairbrush. Closing the drawer with a streak she leaned over to the right hand side of the table and pulled at the top drawer.

Bingo.

On the top of the other ephemera that was Petunia Dursley: face cream, postcards from various places on the Continent, sun hat, shower cap, lay the prize. One wooden-handled hairbrush, whose bristles had ensnared many a strand of brown and grey.

Opening up the tissue paper she placed it on the dressing table's wooden top and teased out more than half a dozen before retuning the brush and closing the door. Excellent thought Cecilia, pleased at her success. Now all I have to do is remember the address. She turned to go and –

– froze –

Staring back at her wearing an expression Cecilia believed only Severus Snape could pull off stood Petunia Dursley. She had neither heard nor seen her move to where she was standing at the moment, centrally positioned in the doorway to her own bedroom. Just when Cecilia thought that nothing was ever going to be done or said between them Petunia took a few steps towards her and spoke.

"I've been watching you for a while, oh yes," she added, her smaller frame inexplicably bearing down on Cecilia and holding up some sheets of paper. Snape's notes. Or rather the ones that Snape had sent her about lycanthropy and that Cecilia had presumed he had written. How careless then that she had left them downstairs on the dining room table.

"I have spent most of my life trying to live _my_ life free of _her_!" she spat, thrusting the notes in Cecilia's direction. "Can you tell me why Miss Wells, that you have got something in my sister's handwriting?" Cecilia looked down quickly. Her sister's handwriting…? Lily Potter's…?

"What have you got to do with them – you're not one of them are you…? magical?" Petunia Dursley grimaced as she said the word as if it were an expletive. Cecilia shook her head.

"No," agreed Petunia with conviction and bitter ire. "No. But you're involved somehow – how else would you have something of my sister's? I might have known," she added, not letting Cecilia reply. "My husband employs a woman to teach Dudley and you _don't_ respond to him? That's what made me suspicious – oh, I'll be keeping hold of _these_," she added as Cecilia reached for the notes. The incognito tutor–come–magical scientist felt her body sag.

"But soon you will be gone and there will be another he can fawn over, whether at work, or in the street or Her at no. 8." Petunia's voice had become wistful and she looked across to the dressing table and then past it to Privet Drive beyond. "Never good enough," she added walking towards the window and looking out onto the block-paved road. She turned back quickly and fixed Cecilia with a stare but behind it years of bitterness and sorrow permeated, like the admission of larceny by a vicar.

"I was never good enough – _am_ never good enough," she continued, holding onto her nerve as her woes, like guilty secrets were suddenly spilled into the atmosphere between them. "They all said it. I just wanted to live my life…I had to lie to my friends until there were none left. And then Vernon came along and took me away from all that!" Between the two women silence reigned again and Petunia Dursley sank onto the damask bedspread.

"So, who are you?" she asked after a while, turning to look at Cecilia. "And you haven't answered my question!"

"Cecilia Wells," replied Cecilia and Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Cecilia Frobisher," she corrected. "I was once Cecilia Wells, but I married."

"Ah, you fell into that trap," muttered Petunia her voice harsh and cold. "And, unmagical Cecilia Frobisher, why are _you_ in the wizard world? Surely they hate muggles as much as they did when L – years ago?"

"Probably more so," nodded Cecilia slowly. "I was employed by a wizard to help them defeat a powerful, terrible wizard."

"And I suppose this wizard would be Voldermort, would it? You'd be surprised what I know, Miss Wel – Mrs Frobisher," she added as a look of astonishment crossed Cecilia's features and she got back to her feet. "I too know of the wizard world. That would be the same Voldermort who killed my sister, attacked my nephew and caused him to be left on my doorstep?" Cecilia nodded.

"So I ask you again, what are you doing here? And how are you connected with my sister?" Cecilia nodded slowly, looking at her – the – Lily's notes in Petunia's hand.

"What do you know of science, Mrs Dursley?"

"What?" Cecilia could see she had caught the woman standing before her off-guard.

"The wizard who contacted me, and I am sure that if you know of Voldermort then you know of whom I am speaking – " she paused and Cecilia saw a wave of recognition pass over her features.

" – Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore," confirmed Cecilia. "He engaged my services as a scientist and teacher of science to enable the wizard world to defeat Voldermort. But I have to admit, I didn't know that those were written by your sister."

Again, there was silence. Petunia stared down at the notes in her hand and back at Cecilia.

"So, why are you here? Not to educate my son, then?"

"On the contrary, I _am_ here to do that," Cecilia replied, looking back at the notes with a pang of longing. Maybe Petunia Dursley would change her mind about keeping them. "I am in danger from the Ministry of Magic and it was arranged that I took the place of the woman who was supposed to be with you. I am here as long as you need me to educate Dudley."

Again, a pocket of silence filled only with Cecilia's breathing: of course now was exactly the right time to have a dizzy spell, she scolded herself.

"This science then, you were called upon to save the world of wizards?" repeated Petunia Dursley, paraphrasing Cecilia's passage as she sat down on the bed. "I would be most interested to hear of it. Please, sit." She tapped the bedspread next to her. Cecilia felt her heart beat heavier behind her chest as she contemplated what to say. She shouldn't say anything, not to a muggle really. Dumbledore had told her before that to reveal her work to a muggle should jeopardise her memory. But then genetically Petunia Dursley was a wizard and she had claimed refuge in her home…Cecilia owed her something. It was a risk, but she knew she must take it.

"There is a way for Voldermort to be defeated. Harry is the only one who could do this because of the connection between them. For the science to work I had to collaborate with him closely in order to be close. We aren't there yet…"

"So what does that have to do with me?" Cecilia nodded. It was a fair question. She was sitting in her house; eating her food; following the pretence of tutorship. And, as she could remember everything that she could five minutes ago it was a pretty good guess to infer that her premise about the magical abilities of Petunia Dursley, however innate, were sound.

"What if I were to tell you were, genetically, a wizard…or a witch at any rate. Your sister was a witch – " at this statement Petunia Dursley snorted, " – and therefore logically you carry a gene which shows that you could be a witch – "

Breaking off again Cecilia saw the expression set upon Petunia Dursley's face. She had hit on something, but what? Was Petunia about to tell her?

"Whatever protected my nephew protects him in our home," replied Mrs Dursley sharply, her expression becoming fixed. That isn't right, thought Cecilia. I don't know what exactly isn't right but something was wrong. And what she had given was not the explanation for the look on her face when Cecilia had mentioned a genetic link to wizardry.

"Now tell me, while I decide what to do about you prying in here, why are you in my home? Other than to hide from the law and educate my son?" She had a right to know, thought Cecilia grimly. She – Cecilia – had had this pressing on her chest for a fortnight to the point of suffocation, and the rest for almost a year. Despite Mrs Dursley's assertive tone which was compelling Cecilia to tell all she could almost feel the relief leave her like a pressure cooker.

So, over the course of the next half an hour she told Petunia about her presence at Hogwarts, about the battle and how it had been arranged for her to come somewhere safe, though she mentioned no names or specific details. Throughout the time Petunia listened unquestioningly and the small inkling of guilt that Cecilia had taken advantage of the woman and her hospitality began to ebb away. During that time Petunia Dursley sat next to her, listening without interruption. When Cecilia finished she got to her feet and began to pace about her own bedroom.

"And you believe that somehow I am magical? Somehow I am a witch? Because I promise you this, Mrs Frobisher, I am nothing of the sort." Petunia laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. "Whatever made you come up with such a ludicrous suggestion? It is no wonder that you haven't got that potion, or whatever it is you're making right yet, if that's what you think!" Cecilia said nothing as the defensiveness in Petunia's voice told a different story.

"So you are to be married to a wizard, is that right? And you need these, for this?" Petunia paced back towards her, holding out the notes in front of Cecilia cruelly, like someone teasing a child with sweets. She'd already told her she wasn't going to give them to her.

"Remus," began Cecilia, her throat dry (they were there…just inches from her…she could snatch them and run…), "the wizard I'm going to marry, he has a disease and these notes have helped me to get so far with the process."

"Ah-ha!" Exclaimed Petunia, pulling the pages out of reach and looking at them intently. "What sort of disease? What sort of disease requiring the knowledge of the moon and…urgh!" She'd got to the part about becoming a werewolf, thought Cecilia, shuddering. She's going to throw me out for sure!

"Have them," declared Petunia holding them loosely with an outstretched arm. "They're of no practical or sentimental use to me, but they are to you. My dear…!" she exclaimed, her tone softening when she saw Cecilia's face. "Here," she added pushing them into Cecilia's hand. "I loved like that once."

"My hypothesis is not wrong," said Cecilia softly as she held onto Sn – Lily's notes and looking vacantly into the distance as if talking to someone far off. "People can be wizards and witches without knowing it in the same way that someone with an inherited disease doesn't always know. But it's there…waiting for a moment to show itself."

Stopped and looked at Petunia. Instead of rebuking her this time she looked back at Cecilia, who got up to her feet walked over to the dressing table and put hand on the drawer, then turned back, a look of horror on her face.

"You're not a teacher then?! You're not qualified to teach Dudley?! I want you out of my house, you little…outlaw! I am no witch but I have a good mind to find these authorities who seek you…and then perhaps you'll stop this…ludicrousness!" As she bore down on Cecilia she whipped the notes back out of her hand and marched away, holding them in both hands as if to tear them into shreds.

"Mrs Dursley!" exclaimed Cecilia in alarm. "Please! I'll go; I'll leave your house and family and never return here again. Please don't!" she declared as Petunia held the notes written by her sister above her. Instead of ripping them as Cecilia thought she was going to Petunia Dursley lowered her arms and looked at the pages.

"My dearest sister," said Petunia, not to Cecilia but to the notes, whose corners were lifting a little as if in response. "You wrote these…? When you left us…? When he wanted nothing more to do with me because I wasn't you…? When you left me with our parents to look after…? When, through your involvement in something or other they were killed…? When _you_ were killed…?" Cecilia watched as she shook her head as if chastising a child for bad behaviour. Then she looked at Cecilia and threw Lily's notes across to her, Petunia's face a mask of sorrow.

"How is it you came by them again?" she asked as Cecilia held the notes tightly in her hand. "Seeing as you became aware of _them_ only recently?"

"I was given them, by the wizard who I worked with on the Universal Link…Harry's potion," she clarified as Petunia Dursley wrinkled her features in incomprehension. "I thought they were something to do with this, but they turned out to be – "

" – a hope, a dream, a shadow…something that you could cling to now you are absent from him," finished Petunia bitterly. "I am quite familiar with that cruel tactic, having been a victim of it before myself." Cecilia stopped in her reply suddenly as she replayed the sentence that she had just heard. Was Petunia Dursley suggesting that someone knew that she and Remus were to be separated, and Snape had given her these as a way of keeping her quiet…?

Another thoughts struck her, and then another…were these notes a dead end…? Was she being kept away with _a hope, a dream, a shadow_ while other things that they _did not trust her with_ unfolded…? Looking up from the notes the expression on Petunia Dursley's face of contempt and mistrust mirrored her own feelings.

And then, just as she was beginning to doubt everything and everyone Cecilia smiled a little at Petunia Dursley.

"Mrs Dursley, you love your family, don't you?" She nodded stiffly, taken aback.

"Well, I love a wizard…and because I do I'm persecuted by their ministry…" She trailed off as Petunia Dursley crossed the becarpeted floor and sat on the bed, gesturing for her to sit again.

"I know all about wizards…you wait, when they've finished with you, they'll cast you aside – they think us nothing at all, wizards." She paused, her voice cut with pity and sympathy as disbelief flashed over Cecilia's features. "They have used you for what they want, and now they dump you here now you're past your usefulness…" Petunia Dursley began to shake, her voice raw and high pitched as if she were holding back from choking on tears, yet her face remained fixed and her eyes hollow as she got to her feet and began to pace furiously.

"Do you think I wanted to be reminded of her when I got my life and family together, all by myself?! And then I was forced to bring up her son, who every day reminded me of _her_, how brilliant _she_ was, what _she_ could do…and what I cannot?! I hate her, even now she's dead! I loved her…she was wonderful…and then she became a witch…mother and father thought it was marvellous! I got my O-levels, where do you think they were? Shopping in Diagonalley…I was about to go to go to college to start my A-levels and where were they?! Waiting for her to get off the train…everything was Lily, Lily Lily…and she was so down-to-earth about it too…I didn't want her pity…I just wanted everything to be normal…I wanted to be an older sister…I wanted to show her things, do the older sister thing…!" She turned to look out of the window and Cecilia saw her shoulders sag and Petunia Dursley put her hands to her face.

Cecilia stood up and moved next to her, giving her a comforting hug. No matter how different they were, they were both older sisters. It was a hard burden for which no-one ever prepared you. Could she imagine not being the experienced older sister to Amy? Having it all taken away from her? Petunia Dursley pulled away from Cecilia and smiled.

"You're right of course," she said, walking away from Cecilia and across to the built-in wardrobe that was adjacent her dressing table. "On both counts. It was taken away from me, and as an older sister yourself you understand." She smiled again as she opened the wardrobe and took out a small box which she laid on the table as Cecilia stared back at her, mouth open in disbelief. "The second count being the genetic link I denied earlier to you." From the box, wooden and small, she removed a piece of paper, yellowed and aged, which she unfolded and spread out on the desk. "I don't know really why I kept it, only that it reminded me who I am, not what I wasn't." Handing it to Cecilia she smiled wanly as Cecilia read it.

"It was the first time that I realised I could…well, mind-reading sounds awfully naïve. When I realised I could tell what someone was thinking…feeling…even before they did, or at the same time." She watched as Cecilia read the brief note that she – Petunia – had written when she was eight before handing it back to her. "My mother had had something she had to tell father and I was able to waylay him before he went off to work so she could. I wrote that just afterwards," she added, folding the note in half then half again before replacing it in its box. "It doesn't happen all the time," Petunia added, as if filling in the blanks created by Cecilia's unuttered words. "If I concentrate…"

Mind-reading, thought Cecilia. Telekinesis. The ability to discern thoughts and feelings. Before she could think any more Petunia Dursley swept up the small box again and flung it back into the wardrobe.

"They called me a freak when they found out. But when Lily got her letter, I thought…I thought…" Cecilia sighed. Not a witch like Lily, but her genes showed that she had some innate magical ability. Breaking off from her thoughts Cecilia found herself moving towards Petunia again; the woman's shoulders were sagging and moving up and down. She was crying. As soon as Cecilia touched her she found herself crying too.

"What can I do to help?" asked Petunia when her tears had reduced to a sniffle, a few minutes' later. "How can I help you, Cecilia, as a muggle?"

"Tell him," said Cecilia definitely. "Let him know. I wish I could explain all I want to, but...tell Dumbledore. That will give S – the wizard who is working on the potion for Harry the best possible chance."

There was a pause, a long, drawn-out silence. Petunia Dursley stepped away from Cecilia and folded her arms defensively walking away from her towards the bedroom window.

"No. I've denied it all my life. I want to be a muggle. I want to be "ordinary" "just Petunia" like I was called. I don't want this!" Cecilia stayed where she was; it was like dealing with a wounded animal. Now she had to be tentative and coax, both of which were not traits that Cecilia found easy to manifest. It didn't matter what happened now; Cecilia knew that not only her hypothesis of a spectrum of ability in wizards was correct but that the idea about environmental conditions and choices was also true. What mattered now was that Dumbledore knew it, and Snape.

"You can no more change this part of you than you can your own hair colour. Oh, you can dye it but nature will out in the end. Your nephew has to stand in front of the most terrible and powerful wizard ever and trust in the potion me and my colleague have made for him. Acknowledging this, and that's all you need to do, means you can ensure his safety, Petunia.

"I can understand your feelings towards your sister…jealousy…anger…resentment…" Cecilia broke off as other words popped on the surface of her mind…

…I feel this too…she was the first one who Remus loved…and now I know why…

"Lily must have worked this out when she was no more than fourteen years old…she called on her understanding of the muggle world too…and had no problem with approaching someone who could help her to find the solution, all completely selflessly…"

In her heart Cecilia knew she should have felt awe and wonder in the latent presence of this young witch's ability; not only her cognitive abilities but her way of being able to deal with people. Perhaps it was the deep loathing and resentment that Petunia Dursley was radiating as she stood with her back to Cecilia that made her feel somewhat hostile towards Lily Potter too.

"This is about you, who you really are. You can make a difference…"

"No!" Petunia Dursley spun round, her face red and her arms still folded. Defensiveness was her shield as she stood before Cecilia, willing her not to ask her to recognise this trait that she had clearly chosen to deny.

"No," she repeated. "I _chose_ what I wanted to do. When – when – "Cecilia could see tears of anger welling again "when they chose my faultless sister over me – " she turned, clenching the dressing table's gilt handle with a strength mightier than her frame would betray; her bony knuckles whitening around it. "When they chose that world…" Her voice trailed off, towards the window, towards the street below, towards the world.

"I know I could have been a witch, not much of one, maybe. I chose not to be. I choose to be something Lily could not be." Petunia turned sharply and looked accusingly at Cecilia. "She could not choose to be a muggle…ordinary. A muggle. Don't you want…normality? Don't you just wish to be plain? All that glamour…all that fascination…surely it's better to know what's around you…?"

She wasn't talking to Cecilia anymore; her voice was distant and Cecilia had the distinct impression that she was trying to convince herself, maybe her past self…or maybe even her sister, as if begging her to remain at home and not return to Hogwarts. An image flashed across her visual memory, of Lily Potter walking down a cobbled street, which was odd as, of course, Cecilia had never met Lily, nor had she any recollection of the scene.

And then Cecilia realised that Petunia was staring at her with cold scrutiny as she had done the first day she had laid eyes on her, on her doorstep when she had stood there with a flimsy excuse and a bag of Snape-packed clothes. Trying not to allow it to sway her from her course Cecilia smiled.

"Mrs Dursley…Petunia…" she began, ignoring the suspicion with which she was being viewed. "If your sister had not been a witch, would you still have felt the same way?"

The question remained unanswered, or at least not in the conventional verbal sense. Petunia Dursley folded her arms, as if hugging herself close in an attempt at comfort and consolation.

"I am lucky, Cecilia Frobisher," she replied in a tone of pure certainty. "I got myself a good husband who is hardworking, even if he does have roaming eyes…I have a son…I have got my life…something that's MINE. I've worked hard for it! I did it on my own! No-one can deny my hard work with my family and now the skill I once had is only a shadow now, it is nearly gone and I will celebrate the day when I am no longer able to…read minds…when I am normal."

Without realising it, Cecilia nodded in agreement. At last she understood Mrs Dursley…doting on her family and her level of cleanliness and tidiness. She was no house-proud housewife. She had fought back against whatever injustice she felt had been meted out to her when she was younger when she had no voice. Almost every fibre of her being was with Petunia Dursley on this one.

Almost every one.

A small voice in the back of Cecilia's mind was kicking out to get her attention. If only she could show Mrs Dursley that by sharing her knowledge this would help purge her still further of this hateful thing that she called magic. Then she realised Petunia Dursley was staring at her again.

"Well, if you don't want to share it with Dumbledore…perhaps another wizard…? Perhaps Harry's godfather – "

"Sirius Black?" she spat, as if the name itself was a poison to her. "I have met this wizard before…" And then, just as Cecilia thought Petunia Dursley was going to say no more on the subject a torrent of words as if from a broken tap, almost as hot and as acid as she had used to illustrate her feelings about Lily, spilled from her as if they too had been dammed and waiting the opportunity to be spilled.

"I threatened to join them at Hogwarts to find out what all the fuss was about, but really I just wanted to get away. When those horrible boys found me I felt so angry…and they spoke to me as if I were a child…_Sirius Black_ told me that he had only come to find me because of Lily, and he wouldn't have been bothered otherwise. I swore from that day on that I would have nothing more to do with wizards and their interfering ways. I told my sister never to contact me again. And now she has." Petunia Dursley gestured to the notes about lycanthropy and

Cecilia sank to the bed, looking down at them in her hand. And now she felt jealousy. Envy for someone else long since gone whom she had never even met. She knew Remus, her Remus, better than Lily had done. Oh no wonder he felt love for her, someone who could rid him of this torment. An all round –

" – do-gooder," finished Petunia Dursley, stiffly. "It was always the same, even when we were children. If someone had a broken bone then she would want to mend it…children lost, she would find them. Couldn't even stop interfering when I wanted to get miles from her and our family, had the whole lot after me, didn't she? Didn't she understand that I just wanted to be – "

" – left alone." Cecilia nodded grimly. The arrogance of wizards. Thinking that muggles can't make decisions for themselves. "Petunia…may I call you that?" She waited until the woman nodded before continuing.

"Your son, he will make good…like his father. He is intelligent, but lazy. Perhaps a small time at Mr. Dursley's work, to show him what hard work is like? That he has to work hard to get the rewards? He is progressing adequately, though I won't lie to you, he probably won't achieve what you expect of him this year. He could, however, do much better were he to repeat his fifth year. Even without this he will not perform as badly as could have."

Silence reigned. It was of a duration that could only rival those which she and Snape had created and it was clear Cecilia's turn of direction had thrown Petunia Dursley somewhat.

"If it's any consolation the wizard who needs this information hates Harry, and its mutual."

And past the enduring silence Petunia Dursley approached Cecilia and hugged her.

"I…could," she said, dangling the bait over the side of the boat for an eager Cecilia to pay attention to, "can you explain to me about the potion, and about this work that will help your fiancé?" Cecilia nodded and extended a hand as Petunia let her do. The woman shook it, nodding.

"Sorry about your husband," Cecilia continued, spreading the notes out onto the dressing table next to her half-written letter to Snape via Dumbledore. "Of your nephew's potion I've already told you. However, it was because I was asked to come up with it that I determined that wizardliness was not simply a case of you were or you weren't. That's where a small sample of your hair came in, cunningly swiped when you weren't looking came in," she added with a smile to help ease the look of worry on Petunia Dursley's face. "That's how I got the DNA trace and worked out that you had this ability. You are able to use energy in a way that ordinary muggles can't. Although you have chosen not to let that continue," Cecilia added, acknowledging Petunia's admission earlier. "Of the second…"

Over the course of the next ten minutes Petunia Dursley became the first person to hear the most up-to-date hypothesis that Cecilia Frobisher had formulated with regard to a relationship between lycanthropy, the moon and the Universal Link.

It went like this. Her fiancé was not only he is a wizard…he's was werewolf too. Petunia gasped. Cecilia nodded sagely. He got bitten as a child by a crony of Voldermort because his father was protecting vital information. Cecilia reached down into her pocket for the crumpled jottings she had placed there just before she had entered Petunia Dursley's bedroom. The effects of the moon upon water, which whatever in his cells caused him to metamorphose once a month the moon's gravitational influence upon the water in his body was likely to be the key. Silver harms him, but it's something genetic, something that affects his cells. The moon has something to do with it, it's tidal…it affects water…

"Oh God! I would do anything to help him…it's so painful for him…" In frustration, not only for her inability to think straight but also because of her inability to be with him she threw her notes and those of Lily Potter on the floor. This time it was Petunia who listened.

"Tell me about your life, before knowing abut magic…"

And that was just what Cecilia did next. She told her how she had firstly given up teaching, how she had been a science teacher and how she had seen the advertisement in the newspaper.

"I did wonder; you have taught Dudley something. And your first husband?"

"Died, said Cecilia sadly. "In fact, he was murdered by the dark wizards for sport, it would seem. He had a climbing accident; they kept him on Scafell Pike and he developed pneumonia and died."

"If you could go back, would you? If you had a choice, two paths, equal and open. Would you go back to your old life? With your friends and family, rather than this?" Cecilia stopped. If she had two paths…

She realised she mustn't have said anything, as Petunia had continued talking. Instead of sitting next to her Cecilia watched as the woman got back to her feet and moved away from to the window, folding her arms.

"You won't fit in with our society now that you have chosen the wizard world. There's no coming back. You can't forget about it…even if they do perform a mind spell…" she looked at Cecilia carefully. "Your mind feels foggy…but eventually you know…I knew…I fought it…they weren't going to deprive _me_ from knowing…and when I did I knew I didn't want any part of it ever."

Cecilia began to cry feeling the rivulets of tears on her cheeks. Her Remus. She didn't care if she couldn't fit back into the muggle world. Her world was with him, wherever that might be. If she had two paths, one keeping her in the muggle world that day in July and one compelling her to take the train to London…a split second if both consequences of the choices were revealed to her at Birmingham New Street as clear and bright as the train times and platform displays above the ticket kiosks…there was no choice. She turned when she realised Petunia Dursley had sat back down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I love him so much," she sniffed, bending low over her lap with her hands to her face. "He's been through so much…he suffers so and never complains…" The rest of Cecilia's thoughts, her frustrations at being here, her sorrow at being apart from Remus Lupin her annoyance and anger towards Severus Snape for leaving her here all remained unspoken as she soaked her jeans in salt water.

Petunia let her cry for a few moments before, as the sobs began to lessen she let go her embrace, looking around her own bedroom at the beautifully decorated walls, the immaculate carpet and the hand made curtains.

"As do I, Cecilia. My Vernon…it breaks my heart to see him acting like this…and I know it's to do with…them…" And then it was Cecilia's turn to comfort Petunia. As she had held her shoulder, Cecilia took Petunia's hand comfortingly, much older and bonier than her slightly plump oone of her own.

"I fell in love with Vernon…and I've always been in love with him. He wasn't as good looking as other boys, or as talented…he doesn't possess many qualities…he likes his home comforts and order and certainty. And now…he feels uncertain…he feels unsure and it's my fault, deep down…"

"You could solve this. Write to Dumbledore…tell him about yourself." Her eyes sparkled past the glimmering tears. "He can inform the wizard who is making the potion for – "

" – Harry," finished Petunia, glancing at Cecilia's letter on the table.

"If you were to add your experiences to this, it would help a great deal," encouraged Cecilia. "You could…ensure your sister didn't die in vain; that Harry had a greater chance of succeeding anyway…"

"What they intend is to arrange for his death then, with a potion to defeat Voldermort?" Cecilia shook her head.

"Whatever is going to happen, will happen. Whatever Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, the secret organisation that Lily was once a part of," Cecilia added un-necessarily, for the look on Petunia Dursley's face told her that she was already familiar with it, "whatever will happen with Voldermort _will_ happen, and Harry would be involved whatever happened. This way he had a chance of not only surviving but defeating him." Cecilia inhaled. "The whole world will be free of the terror, and not just wizards, but you and your family too, and me." I might get to see my family again, she thought wistfully, picturing for the first time in ages the faces of first her mother and then her sister

"You might get to see your family," repeated Petunia quietly.

"I have addressed it," insisted Cecilia unabashed, "all you need to do is write down what you know…what you feel…just pop it in post box and it will get where it needs to be…" But Petunia shook her head again, held the letter out to Cecilia. She stared at it and folded her arms.

"My sister lives in Scotland with my mother and my best friend's sister. She doesn't know who I am. My best friend and her husband…little Freya's mother…they were murdered by the enemy's followers. All my family, me included, are muggles…persons of no magical ability, but we can die as easily as them. It's a wizard war that includes us…where nearly every one like us has no idea of the danger. Like Halloween last year…eight hundred of us…"

"…that was put down to a – " Petunia trailed off as Cecilia shook her head.

"Voldermort's gift to a handful of followers. We are no more than vermin to them." She shuddered and thought about her time in his presence. It was intoxicating...she was compelled to remain…to listen...in her guise as Snape on the night of the great battle. For a few moments, there was silence.

I will think about it. The words appeared in Cecilia's mind without having passed through her ears. And they appeared to have been unspoken by Petunia herself.

"I will think about it," repeated Petunia, taking the half-written letter from Cecilia's hand and putting it into her cardigan pocket. "And let that be the end of it. If you are to be in my house and you are to teach my son as effectively as you have been doing so far I suggest that you get prepared as Mr. Dursley will be bringing him home later on this evening." Cecilia frowned: surely Dudley was toe back at boarding school now? "We are pleased with your tutoring and wish Dudley to benefit from it in the evenings."

Then Petunia Dursley reached for a tissue from the box on her dressing table, flattening out the sheets before reaching up to her own dark blonde head. The self-declared muggle wrapped the strands into a flat parcel before pulling out the letter that Cecilia had half-written inside. Cecilia watched with bated breath and her heart hammering underneath her ribs as Petunia Dursley found a pen from one of the dressing table drawers and began to write before glancing at her mistrustfully, scowling at it before leaving both the letter and hair strands and striding out of her own bedroom leaving Cecilia Frobisher sitting awe-struck on the bed.

When she was sure Petunia had gone Cecilia grabbed for the letter, reading quickly the rather incomprehensible couple of paragraphs including the one about Dudley. Most of it appeared to be in some sort of code, though English, odd words here and there which meant nothing to Cecilia.

Picking up the pen that Petunia Dursley had left beside the powder compact on her dressing table Cecilia added another note to Snape asking him to check both hair samples. On the tissue paper that Petunia had encased a lock of her hair Cecilia wrote, "PD" and on the other she wrote, "DD". She added a comment about the possible medium solution that would work to dissolve the hair in order to analyse it with the microscope as well as adding that to further check, sample of Dudley's hair too…and then she risked a few choice comments about silver nitrate, the moon and its tidal extremities and how, were a potion to be developed administering one at such a time might be the way forward. After carefully not signing her name and before she returned the letter to Petunia Dursley Cecilia sketched a little monkey sitting behind a typewriter…

…the last thing Petunia Dursley remembered thinking about her sister before her confrontation with Mrs Frobisher was an argument they had had. They had both been pregnant but instead of embracing the fact and the maternal instinct between them bringing them together it had seemed to do the opposite, with Lily offering the olive branch and Petunia, feeling patronised and insulted, throwing it back in her face. In fact Lily had not even told her she was expecting, but Petunia knew. It was this uncanny ability to know such things which was her gift, something which could have led her into wizardry.

Petunia Dursley sat at the dining room table, chin in her hands and staring out into the garden trying to block out the thoughts of the tutor that she had been deceived into accepting into her home who would, in a few minutes' time, give her the sealed envelope and ask her to post it. In the garden a slight breeze tickled her azaleas and she watched their marvellous heads flutter a little with the energy.

She had loved once like Cecilia loved. But the object of her affection did not think her ability was sufficient enough reason to love her back, in the end. Oh, she had had her letter all right, much later and seemingly as an afterthought. It did not contain what she wanted to hear and then he tossed her aside, causing her to run, causing her to discover the shoulder of a non-magical man, a stoical, down-to-earth, dependable person it was then that she had sworn to forget, and live her life how she had chosen…

If she recalled this all now, every inch of her memory, every part if her ability from the moment she had heard her mother thinking about which shop she would buy her daughter's new shoes from, what she and Lily were going to have at Christmas or on birthdays and the odd thoughts and memories of people around them even when they were miles away then she would have gone back on her choice…

…Lily had been her little sister, and she had betrayed her…

.. but this woman was right, she would be helping. She had to think of it as not helping the wizard world but helping the non-magical world, the world she had chosen. The unspoken words that Cecilia Frobisher had uttered, the little secrets she had though but hadn't shared…the wizards, the events, the people…even down to her modesty that she had not used to blackmail her with, which she could so easily have done. And above all, her dogged faith that she was doing right. _So_ like her sister, and also, like _she _would have done had the world around her given her a chance. She had atoned for it all many times over by taking in Harry, although she knew in her heart of hearts it wasn't really enough. Now, by getting it out of her system she could help her world, the non-magical world, the ones who had no choice, the ones whom the magically gifted took for granted.

Once she had finished it she would be admitting it…there was no taking it back…it meant that all the stuff that happened when she was younger she had accepted, and put behind her. She could live her life free of blame and guilt. Someone other than Vernon accepted her and she was sitting in her living room waiting to help her son. She knew Cecilia had had no choice, but she also knew that she had accepted to wait claustrophobically and confined, and it was her own admiration of that which had compelled Petunia to…

…take the letter from Cecilia Frobisher, return back upstairs and finish off what she meant to say as her son's tutor prepared hastily for her unforeseen tuition duty.

…it was written. At the end of Privet Drive on the corner with Chestnut Walk a pillar box stood. Petunia Dursley turned away from the Post Box looked back down the road, at her street as her husband's car drew up on the drive.

Her son, her beloved son…there would be nothing she needed when he was grown, they would remain at 4 Privet Drive for the rest of her life, very little for her to do once her son was grown…watering the garden, straightening the curtains…the domestic dream she had fought so hard to preserve now seemed a little dull when she realised what she was standing aside from.

And then there were the arguments with Vernon…

…looking at the innocuous white envelope she had in her hand she silently thanked Cecilia Frobisher for insisting on and arguing the cause for her writing is. Now this would be the purge and they would stop their rows which always seemed to revolve around Harry, her family or magic.

Turning back to the post box and looking at the black square standing out from the scarlet paintwork that indicated the next collection time was the letters spelled out "MON 17.45" in white letters. Petunia looked at the address Cecilia Frobisher had written on it and to whom it was addressed.

Dumbledore.

She remembered writing that name on an envelope once before herself.

Using the pen that she had taken with her out of the house she crossed out name…

…what was his name…that awful boy…he'd become a teacher too…

…Petunia tapped the end of her pen on the tip of her nose as she thought. A mental image appeared in her cerebellum.

Above the obliterated name "Albus Dumbledore", in clear round handwriting Petunia wrote a name, another that she written so many years ago yet was branded firmly in her mind.

As Petunia pushed the letter into the postbox a breeze circulated around her and she looked up so see the postbox shake and quiver as the letter shot back out. At the same time an owl came out of nowhere and caught it in mid-air before tearing back off into the sky.

Petunia Dursley watched the bird's wake until it was very definitely out of sight before walking quickly and lightly back towards her home and her family.

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3am and the cause of Harry's insomnia was, for once, not Lord Voldermort. The day had been a long one and by now, having carefully woven an intricate tapestry of misleads for Poodle Penwright enjoying each and every one, those and the thought of returning to his bed had kept him going through another "bare your soul" session with their new Muggle Studies teacher.

It wasn't until Harry had come to doze off, relaxing peacefully in the anticipated cushion of amnesia that a thought he had dismissed and buried that day had infiltrated his drowsy mind like an errant wasp on a hot summer's day which he hadn't been able to make leave. The more Harry thought about it, the more it confused him. 

At first, it had occurred to him that it must have been a manifestation of his own consciousness, his unwillingness to share his intimate personal details with Penwright coupled with his hatred for Snape and his desire to have the more comforting ear of Mrs Frobisher as of a few months ago.

That conclusion had steadied his mind somewhat and he had begun to doze off.

But it didn't make sense…

Then he had considered the possibility that the stories Ginny had made up as rumours and the situations they had joked about in the Gryffindor common room had become tangled in his mind.

But on thinking deeper, Harry knew better than that…

…another part of his mind replayed a part of his own memory which took place chronologically after his conversation with Snape when he had wished aloud that he didn't have to go to see Penwright that afternoon occurring shortly after Snape's abrupt pause and his look of hatred. It had not been Snape's usual look of hatred that he usually reserved for Harry's benefit; he was well used to that, it had rather a more defensive edge than usual, as if he had let his guard down a little and the chink had revealed altogether too much for the wizard's liking.

He could perhaps dismiss it as Snape's defensiveness about the location of Mrs Frobisher…Harry had annoyed him, he knew by asking again…and he could accept this had not the content of the image that he had caught, mere seconds of it, been so…horrifying.

But…

Harry turned over in his bed, the undersheet of the covers entangling itself around his legs as he fought for physical as well as mental comfort.

…the thought that had belonged to Severus Snape that he had acquired…

…he and Ron had been there…had followed Cecilia Frobisher from Hagrid's hut, through the castle grounds and into the teacher's corridor before crouching outside the window adjacent to the door that she had flung open, announcing to her colleague in babbled rapidity that she had finally worked out the connection between wizards and muggles…

…they had been there; they had seen him kiss her forehead before letting her sleep…they had witnessed the next three hours…

…the image, so realistic in its form that had come from Snape's mind, was definitely something that had not gone on…

…for he had told Dumbledore so when she disappeared exactly what they had seen…

…so why would such an event, so clear and so obvious in its logical conclusion from the glimpses that he had discovered…why would it be in Snape's mind…?

…was it connected to his reason for not telling him – Harry – where she was…?

Two conflicting scenes were fighting for primacy in Harry's mind now as he recalled what his senses knew he had seen with Ron on the night that Mrs Frobisher had gone to Snape with the Universal Link. He knew that he had seen Snape hold her hand and lean across her. He knew that Snape had kissed her on the forehead and left her to sleep as he went to read her notes. SO why was this other scene, as strong and real as if it were his own putting up such a fight?

He and Ron would have remembered if…well, that didn't happen…

Harry looked across at the sleeping form of his friend. If he were to wake him up he knew Ron would neither thank him or believe he were sane if Harry were to ask him if the latter memory had occurred. Not that he would be much help to Harry as it was; these days his first thoughts were for Hermione. Harry turned over and allowed the other scene to infiltrate his conscious mind.

This is what hadn't happened…

….Snape had not removed his cloak, allowing it to fall to the floor. Neither had he sat next to her, nor leaned over Cecilia Frobisher on the bed, looking her up and down. Harry would have remembered if Snape had kissed her mouth as passionately as that, awakening her. And he would _definitely _have remembered if Snape had begun to –

No. It was too horrifying to recall again and Harry switched back to the first scene of Snape pushing back the red hair of the woman sleeping upon his bed to block out the rest of the horrifying memory that had been Snape's. Harry pushed himself up onto his pillow and stared wide-eyed at the back of the becurtained bedframe.

So, if it had not been what had actually gone on that night then…what were such thoughts of him and Mrs Frobisher doing in Snape's mind? And if he could evoke and then tap into such memories just by annoying him what other little secret could he – Harry – compel him to betray?

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A/N: We're picking up speed now, folks. If you liked it, why not review? It only takes a minute but it means such a lot to me.


	15. The Room of Artefacts

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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Tabitha Penwright lay in bed waiting for the dawn to dawn. Strange dreams had floated around her mind as she had slept, oddly fascinating but now, this side of night out of reach and fading. She dreamed like that before. Not just the ordinary lurid dreams of eating cheese too late at night either. Dreams like this often led to revelations and had somehow helped her to solve her mysteries. Perhaps this had been one, a dream to help her discover the Universal Link?

As if chasing an ever-accelerating rabbit over a misty moor Tabitha sought what she had dreamed before closing her eyes again as it disappeared into the warren of oblivion. She would probably have gone to sleep again had there not been a knock at her bedroom door. Without waiting for permission to enter a house-elf bobbed in and made a leap for her bed.

"Aah! Get off!" Tabitha shrieked in alarm. She pulled the covers over herself and watched the house elf, now lying on its back, look mournfully at her.

"Dobby is sorry, Lady," said the house-elf. "Dobby has come to tell Lady that her bath is drawn, for Dobby knows that Lady cannot do it for herself." Ah. It was that house-elf. The one who had brought her food to her room and spoke of her equality to the elves in the school's kitchen. The one who had mourned her absence of visits. It was crazy: why would she want to visit elves? And why would it think that she needed its help with simple basic things like that?

"Come, see Lady," insisted the house elf, its blue and yellow striped dungarees far too long for it causing it to fall over the hems. Regaining its balance the elf opened the door from where it stood and flung an outstretched arm in its direction. "Lady should bathe at once. Lady…Lady should be warned…she is in grave danger!"

"Hm!" exclaimed Tabitha, climbing out of bed and looking in the direction of the sunken bath. It would be lovely to have a soak in there before her Tuesday's terrors tormented her. "Thank you, elf," she added, half smiling at it. The elf beamed.

"Dobby, Lady, "he replied, a grin as wide as Gringott's banking hall plastered across his face.

After the elf Dobby had left Tabitha made her way into the bathroom and did indeed indulge in ablutions. As she soaked in the warm, soapy water her mind filled with shrieks and shouts coming from the ghosts of her already taught lessons.

…pasty Penwright…

…there's only one Mrs Frobisher…

…Fro-bi-sher…Fro-bi-sher…

…Umbridge's lapcat (that was a new one…she had overheard only yesterday. The imagination of these children was certainly remarkable).

She would have to face it all again that day and get on it, until she managed to get to the evening and continue the work with Harry Potter and Severus Snape. At least she was getting somewhere with that and perhaps, when Dolores Umbridge visited again in a fortnight she would have something substantial to give her.

As the warmth of the water eased her muscles the voice of her colleague appeared in her mind. It hadn't been the first time that she had wondered what Vincento would say to her when she was stuck, or upset, or had lost her courage. What was it he was trying to say to her now? Leave?

No, that wasn't it. Give up teaching…? No.

In the bath, Tabitha fought to hear the imaginary advice of her friend. Elf help books. Florence Branch.

She had read them before when she had been feeling particularly low and it had given her a little bit of comfort and had even managed a smile as the little elf in the corner of the page squeaked at her as she turned the pages. Find your inner elf and let it help you overcome your fears. Imagine your elf fighting in combat those things that scare you, letting its triumph pave your way to success. Tabitha _had _imagined her elf, and it was not dissimilar to the one that had run the bath. Probably that was the reason it hadn't worked very well: the image of Dobby fighting hand-to-wand combar with Snape, and then the children in her classes and finally with Dolores Umbridge just didn't work. Scouring her skin with a conjured bath brush Tabitha heard Vincento in her mind…

…stand up for yourself, Tabs…

And how in heaven was she supposed to do that when she contemplated what Dolores Umbridge would do to her if she did not come up with something substantial for her soon…all she had was here-say otherwise. Whether it would be worse than what Severus Snape might do were he to discover that she had crept into his classroom to search for evidence of the Universal Link was debateable. The coward's way. But what choice did she have? She had very little magical skill that she could use practically; her ability lay with feelings, which was what her Ministry work required. Even that was temperamental; it made her tired and irritable with an over-riding feeling of disorientation lasting anything from minutes to a few hours.

As she watched a cluster of bubbles drift away from her on the surface of the water her mind settled on Snape again and she smiled a little. Despite what she had heard both on and off the record…despite what she ascertained herself and his manner towards her he didn't terrify her as was clearly intended by his demeanour. It was the teaching of these children that frightened her and the corresponding responsibility. She didn't want it and what it entailed and from what she could tell they didn't want her either.

And neither too did Severus Snape. He had told her on more than one occasion that he loathed teaching too and yet that didn't match the clear focus and dedication he had been putting into a lesson which Tabitha had espied accidentally a couple of days ago…talking to himself about the objective…looking in the spell book for that particular year (fourth from what she could see)…deciding what ingredients he would need and the quantities too. So professional, something she knew that she knew she couldn't be.

About teaching that is. As for her true calling Tabitha was sure that she was just as dedicated which is why she had not believed it below her to sneak into the potions classroom, the office at the back and then Snape's own room to seek out the Universal Link.

She had imagined herself finding what she needed to find, as she would have done were it a mystery…she was there…she knew where the information was…

…the room was set out much as her own…with a bed near the wall, by the wardrobe, a desk in the corner. Where all Tabitha's décor was pale orange and peach, his was black…

…Tabitha closed her eyes and recalled herself approaching the desk, stopping and veering towards the second drawer down…and…

…lifting out a blank piece of parchment…

…she knew that it hadn't been Hermione' letter, the one which the girl herself had admitted to writing…but it had been something…and then…

…more a feeling, a dream…

…and then in her mind's eye had been able to see where Cecilia Frobisher was…or at least her destination…her mind took her further on…she could see a street sign, past a wizard standing in very dishevelled robes…looked further on, down a street with brick-built houses…she searched for identification…

And then…nothing. Tabitha knew her moment had passed; it was the limit of her magic. Her ability, which could give her enormous amounts of insight also never quite gave her the answer. It was when she grasped at the answer that it left her, like a scared animal. Tabitha turned over in the bath. But it was this memory, her own, that she knew was coming back to her in pieces through her dreams. Tabitha had turned it into success before but it had also come at a price.

She got out of the bath, waving her had across the surface and watched the water disappear as if evaporating quickly as she silently used the "aquaapparato" spell. Was it worth the chase? The pursuit of Cecilia Frobisher had been her number one priority before Dumbledore's trial. She was still wizard enemy number one and she – Tabitha – had been sent to Hogwarts to tidy up the aftermath of the muggle's presence here…the Universal Link between muggles and wizards; the emergency education that had to be put in place for the fifth year students in muggle studies; the overwhelming _questioning_ in which the students seemed so ready to participate which, it was clear, she had precipitated.

But if she pursued it, eventually discovering where the muggle was, what good would it do? Tabitha might end up by weakening herself again, a situation which was certainly not compatible with her teaching and research and what's more she might draw attention to herself in terms of the Ministry. As if it wasn't enough that she had to answer to Umbridge, what might result with the discovery of her ability in the detection of muggles? She would be taken out of the Department of Mysteries, that would be for sure, and who could say whether she would even be able to do it again?

That was yet another disadvantage of her ability. Not only was it patchy and so unlike that of other wizards but Tabitha could not determine how or when it would manifest itself. It was as if she was keeping pots of boiling water on the simmer under which the gas could become extinguished and everything was lost. This happened all too frequently and Tabitha could not determine in advance whether the start of a thread would result in a rare success or a frequent failure.

Tabitha summoned a towel and began to dry herself thoroughly. It didn't really matter in any case what it was she chose: the magic chose her in any case. Long had she given up realising that she had much control over what she saw: Tabitha Penwright had accepted her failure self and got on with it. Magicking open the door, more to prove to herself she could do it, Tabitha stepped back into her room, feeling tears of shame on her cheeks. She was neither one thing nor the other. She was neither muggle nor wizard. She had no role model to follow, to ask when things got tough or to look up to.

Tabitha dressed quickly in her comfortable beige robes that the little elf who had been annoying her and calling her "Lady" had washed and ironed for her, swallowing back the surge of emotion before sitting back on the bed and contemplated the day. Perhaps today wasn't going to be so bad. Perhaps the children were going to be nicer. Perhaps today was going to be the day that she made her breakthrough with the Universal Link and the hope of returning to work could once again be a sparkling gem on the her mental horizon.

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"What are you doing telling me this, Hermione?" Ron was uncharacteristically pacing around the boys' dormitory and it was beginning to worry Hermione Granger as she slowly revealed the true extent of her secret to her boyfriend. Parvati was right; if he cared for her like she hoped that he did…that he said he did…then he would understand her point of view.

"If what you say is true and Umbridge knows you were in contact with Cecilia and talking to her about science – "

"She _knows_ about science," said Hermione desperately, hoping that her anxiety was not being conveyed in her voice. "I don't know if she knows it's Cecilia. Mrs Frobisher I mean. Harry told me that you told me she'd gone." She felt the tears well in her eyes as what she had hoped was going to be a comforting discussion was slowly disintegrating around her.

It was true, thought a little voice in her mind as Ron did another circuit around the open space between the boys' beds, even though she was going out with Ron he didn't tell her when he sneaked off with Harry even though she knew very well where they did go. It wasn't only them who knew how to be invisible but whereas they used Harry's cloak Hermione had taken to a more subtle and widespread means of concealment, namely their inability to focus on more than one thing at once.

It wasn't fair, thought Hermione as she made her way towards the McGonagall's downstairs office room. She had found out that the old witch left it free on Wednesdays, that the fire wasn't connected to the official floo network and also that Minerva McGonagall believed that no student had the audacity or skill to break in…that was until Hermione, head and heart laden with malignant sorrow and guilt, had proved her wrong. Whatever she felt about breaking in was nothing to her irrepressible burden…

"Look, I don't mean to be rude but Remus is in a bad way. Fred and George even had to have a talk to him, and that must be serious." Ron's voice became lower and more severe as he stopped his pacing and was looking at her sternly. Go back to pacing, thought Hermione desperately. I can't bear you to look at me like that.

"And Umbridge has found out! Cecilia's number one enemy, Hermione! They could reconvene a Wizengamot to find her…to befuddle her…to kill her… couldn't you have chosen another way to learn science?"

"It was her suggestion," Hermione whimpered, holding back her emotions, not only her guilt but her embryonic feelings of betrayal. "She replied. She – "

"You're supposed to be the intelligent one out of all of us, Hermione! Cecilia didn't know she was in that much danger! She was there for her own protection! Why else do you think she was in that place on her own miles from anywhere, do you think that it's fun?"

Hermione said nothing, instead recalling a similar conversation she had had in the fireplace of the aforementioned Deputy Headmistress with someone who she had always considered to be a father figure. Unlike Harry though, Hermione had no illusions about Sirius Black and his weaknesses and it had been this image which she had clung to when she was going through her childish crush on him last Christmas.

At least she could share a problem with Sirius and he had been sympathetic. Not like Ron now, who was staring at her with an expression of absolute hopelessness and Hermione wondered whether it referred to the situation or to her.

"I'll…just go then?" she managed when she realised Ron wasn't going to say anything else. He nodded briefly and Hermione turned, more to stop herself from sobbing like a girl in front of Ron.

"…the Quidditch team will be back soon," he added, as if that was his reason for nodding. Deep down Hermione knew that it wasn't.

"Are you going to tell Harry?" Her question rebounded from the wall of the boys' dormitory and petered out lamely. She knew it was pathetic, but that was all she could manage.

"Dunno. Probably not. He'll go mad that Umbridge knows," added Ron offhandedly.

"Bye, then," said Hermione before hurrying out of the dormitory. She stood on the common landing that both the boys' and girls' dormitory shared watching the summer rain fall heavily onto the stained glass window. Parvati had been wrong. Ron didn't understand. Or rather, she was right because she now knew she was not Ron's priority.

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…and there was that dream again. This time Tabitha would not let it get away…

Her mind opened up onto a plain of consciousness as she sought her quarry, which dashed over hill and vale. In her memory the memory danced and skipped, as if teasing her as her mind hoved in on the scene. She was getting close. Closer and closer. She was so very near to discerning what it was that she had dreamed. Tabitha took a risk and…_dived_…

…eyes open Tabitha Penwright sat up on her bed and tried to keep up with the volume and complexity of the information that had been her dream. Her work at the Ministry had been in there, as had the cloakroom and the post-imp room. There are lots of clothes too, on the backs of the chairs, over the corners of doors…back in the Department of Mysteries now…the room of artefacts…a cabinet containing…

What? Containing what?

She blinked her eyes, realising she was back in the land of the living, which didn't say much. Half dream and half awake…Tabitha tried to go back the unconscious world and somehow catch up with the now long-departed ethereal dream. The school clock donged three. Three o'clock in the morning. And it was a Saturday.

It was a Saturday. Tabitha smiled a little to herself as she realised what that meant. No teaching now for another two days. Of course there was Harry and having to try to get information from him and Snape but no standing up in front of those dreadful teenagers and forcing them to consume chapter and verse about muggles…no flinching at the sniggers and hearing the undercurrent of noise studded with the words "squib", "pasty" and "poodle." No tide of bitter rebellion that she felt she had to hold back with her hands lest the wave overwhelmed her and caused her to sink. No teenagers. No teaching. Just –

There it was again, as brief and fleeting as a shooting star over the darkened shroud of her subconscious. And then a corresponding thought: was she compelled to remain here in Hogwarts Castle to pursue the Universal Link when her mind was telling her to return to the Department of Mysteries?

Something was there that she needed, Tabitha knew that for sure, and no sooner than she had thought it she was up and dressed, grabbed a few things from the dressing table, her wand and hat, and headed out through the door.

No-one was around at such an hour; it would be a good thirty minutes before the house-elf Dobby would be jumping on her bed and compelling "Lady" to have a bath and eat breakfast, his discourse interspersed with warnings of danger. Crossing the first floor parapet Tabitha made her way lightly down the stairs that took her adjacent the Great Hall and out onto the cobbled courtyard. From here she turned right, hurrying as she went across the stones until she reached the softness underfoot of the grass.

Tabitha walked swiftly down the hill, the sunlight of the early summer's morning gleaming off the dew that was, in turn, deflecting off her shoes as she brushed through it. And there were the edgestones; she knew that to travel by apparition she must cross the boundary of the school. Her absence would be noticed now but she didn't care.

Holding her wand vertically she disapparated.

Tabitha apparated in the foyer. It was far too early for any of the weekend day staff to be in and apart from the air that filled the vacuous space there was nothing at all there, except herself. She walked along the granite-inlaid floor, her shoes making an echoey squeak as she walked over towards the lift that would take her deep into the ministry itself. As the lift doors closed shut and the "ping" had reverberated around the foyer, Tabitha's heart began to sink as her inner confidence began to falter.

What if Umbridge were to find her? What if she was reported missing at Hogwarts? What if she was called up on a disciplinary for dereliction of duty? The door of the lift slid open and Tabitha trod lightly and swiftly towards her office.

Nothing had changed. She had been away for almost three weeks and nothing had changed. The clock on the wall, so deep that they were from civilisation, still indicated whether the analogue clock was displaying the day or night time with the added extra of weather symbols that hovered about it like some very peculiarly shaped insects. On the far wall the bank of filing cabinets sat, motionless and very off-putting. Tabitha was too used to busy, hectic days as a Mysteriour where she, Vincento and Gregor were working on their individual mysteries and the drawers of the cabinet were tirelessly rolling in and out on their castors.

Nothing had changed either about Tabitha's desk. As she sank into the chair behind it she looked at the pile of paperwork that had managed to accumulate in her absence. No "Great Battle" paperwork now; since Dumbledore's trial and the subsequent hasty removal of the information by wizards more senior than she Tabitha was back to her mystery.

Leaning forward she took hold of the first sheaves of paper and glanced at their titles and subsequent summaries. A few memos about office practice in the new climate of heightened security, what to do and to whom to report breaches of the internal regulations (handily detailed in a fifteen page attached document). There was a memo about the half-breed interrogations and the new rules which these creatures were obliged to follow upon pain of Azkaban.

Tabitha leafed through a few others, looking with vain hope for any hint or sign from another department perhaps of an advance, information or leads to information about her mystery. She shook her head in defeat when she realised there was none and picked up the hefty pile of internal memos walking with them to her spot in the far filing cabinet.

She held out her wand and the second drawer slid open. As Tabitha sought for room in her already over-filled drawer, made so by hundreds of internal memos that she had hoarded for years, Tabitha's eye was drawn back to the half-breed one and in particular the name that caught her eye.

Cecilia Frobisher.

How was Cecilia Frobisher linked to half breeds? Tabitha read the sentence that preceded her name but was none the wiser and she dropped the memo along with the rest, unsorted, into the cabinet's drawer. She was not on a mission for Cecilia Frobisher; the prime concern of this Mysteriour was to rediscover the Universal Link in order to hand it over to the Ministry. In turn, they would release her from her duty to be at Hogwarts.

With that thought in mind Tabitha idly glanced at the reports strewn over Vincento's desk. It looked as if he had been busy working on similar work: the date on the top of his report matched the one on hers. Whereas hers informed her about werewolves Vincento had been charged with giants and half-giants. Was that still going on, Tabitha wondered?

She recalled that Vincento had been working on the security of giants before Dumbledore's trial. She had gone with him to Azkaban where a few of them had been imprisoned and had been startled at the shouting and banging that had been going on, recalling how Vincento had told her that extra-thick bars enchanted with a repelling spell had been installed in order to keep them. Tabitha remembered thinking that they were doing their part in helping with security, and also how ironic it was that Vincento had been appointed when he was elfish. How good it was that they were all doing their bit.

Tabitha returned her desk and sat on her chair. She stared at the far wall at the blank, empty space and contemplated the last time she had been there. It had been just after Dumbledore's trial had heard the speech at the feast and afterwards when Dolores had taken over. If she had known then what she knew now, she wouldn't have gone away to Hogwarts, she would have –

– who was she kidding, thought Tabitha chidingly to herself. She would have gone; she was scared of Umbridge. When it came to her boss she was Poodle Penwright after all.

A thought crept into her mind: Umbridge wasn't there now. She could go to work on her new assignment, her artefact. It had been weeks since she had last checked on it and for all she knew there would be more insights to gain. Tabitha savoured the thought, comparing it briefly with teaching and imagined what it would be like if she told Dolores she wasn't the right person for the teaching post at Hogwarts and she should consider reinstating her back as a Mysteriour full time.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Tabitha got to her feet. She paced over to the door that was immediately right of her desk. It was the door that led down to the artefacts that were underneath even this lowly office, deep below the Ministry. It was a place where all unsolved and semi-cracked mysteries were harboured more out of fear Tabitha sometimes thought, than convenience.

The clock adjacent the door ticked to indicate the passing of time and Tabitha put her hand on the plain silver-coloured bar of the handle. She couldn't quit teaching, she thought grimly but she could go down and make sure everything was as it had been and to search for any new developments.

Tabitha glanced back at her desk, at the post. Maybe she should just return to Hogwarts. It must have been no later than three thirty; no-one, not even the elf Dobby, would have missed her. Her eyes glanced at the letters again, those detailing the security measures. Before long she would be involved in these too, no doubt, as if the Department of Mysteries were no more than a shunting ground when other departments got too busy. As if the mysteries didn't matter. As if Mysteriours didn't matter. A jolt of professional pride jolted Tabitha to. She could stand it no longer…she would have to go down there.

Behind the rather plain door that matched the burgundy décor of the Mysteriour office lay the Room of Artefacts. Actually, behind wasn't really the right adjective to use; neither was down. Words like "down" and "behind" suggest the places to which they purport actually exist in space-time whereas despite it being called a "room" the place in which the artefacts were kept were actually "beyond".

Beyond the Mysteriour office were the artefacts. The light on the other side of the door was dim and patchy in places, the origin of which was unknown even to Gregor himself and it illuminated corners and edges of artefacts some of which had remained in the Room since before its creation. That's what Gregor had said when he first brought Tabitha beyond the office and…here. He'd also said for a Mysteriour to go beyond and into the Room of Artefacts alone was incredibly dangerous and that he had had to recommend this as a security measure so someone knew where the Mysteriours were at any one time.

Tabitha knew enough not to question either of these assertions: the first, though entirely illogical that the light to illuminate a room had existed before it was needed was not by any means an isolated occurrence. Indeed, some of the lighting at Gringotts had been found to be older than the building itself. As for the second, it had apparently been something that Gregor had implemented due to unforeseen circumstances. Before Tabitha had begun, Vincento had explained over a Ministerial Office's butterbeer in hushed tones, Gregor had lost no fewer than three Mysteriours, all lost in their own mysteries amongst the artefacts. Gregor had had to tell Fudge the embarrassing news, stating that in all probability they might turn up again, but the Minister had insisted that individuals should not enter alone. He had also assigned Umbridge in her capacity as Undersecretary, to be in charge of the Department of Mysteries from then on.

So, unlike now where Tabitha was using her senses and feelings to guide her towards her unsolved mysterious artefact which she was pretty sure lay at the end of the main long corridor and to the left, Mysteriours worked in pairs and they entered the Artefacts Room together, spending no more time than the other could afford on their artefact. A situation which had led Tabitha to enter the Room alone before.

The light at the end of the corridor shimmered on a few artefacts, none of which were of any interest to Tabitha. Her artefact lay further down and she recalled the last time she had seen it. It had only been her assignment because of success before and her success before had depended upon her entering the Artefacts Room alone.

And further on.

Tabitha had to remain focused on what she was doing; Gregor had been right to recommend no fewer than two Mysteriours should enter at once and she knew if she let her mind wander to other things she would forget her way back. There were other ways to get to the mysteries, other passages that led from the Unspeakable chambers, but they only used them if they had to file the prophecies and passed by the artefacts probably not even registering their significance or even realising they were there.

And here she was. Her mystery, her last one, at any rate. It was the one mystery that was known by the Unspeakables because, once in a while, they needed to provide access to other ministerial officials. What she had done had said to be impossible. Nobody could reach the memories they'd said, because of the strength of the magic surrounding it. But she had done it. Weak-of-magic Tabitha Penwright. She had managed to reach inside…that had been five years ago…

…and like the Rosetta Stone which allowed ancient languages to be translated, it had been her own self through the medium of her artefact that had allowed her to interpret some of the prophecies. All the prophecy spheres had slowly revealed words to Tabitha, not all of them and it had taken time. Once they had been revealed though, the real work had to be done through seers, the proper way…and that's what most of them had been working on with the Unspeakables, along with the general mysteries.

But she had been given this next one to do. Again impossible. At least she had never been asked how she had done it because she knew she wouldn't be able to explain. Beyond were the memories, like cirrus clouds, that swirled and sifted amongst the ether. Tabitha had started with her own because she needed a starting point and the ones that had been most successful in uncovering others had been those that were most painful to her. Those involving her family. Those involving her failure. Those involving Hogwarts.

Tabitha stopped for a moment and lingered over one memory. If only she could understand why he had done it…why had he done that to her…? Not bothering to turn up and when she went to find her friend, only to discover there was no such student by the name of Theodora Higgs in Slytherin…

…but of course people could change their appearance, and someone from that house had taken her for a fool…

She brushed a stray tear from her cheek. Her most painful memory. From that day on her confidence had been shattered. She had been thoroughly betrayed.

It was my own fault, she thought as she stared at her imposingly statuesque artefact. I foolishly thought I would make friends there…

…and then to find his memories, which had really been the key to solving the artefact, she had used this one, the one that had been most profoundly cruel. And therein, found Regulus Black's memory.

Through it she had seen him sit next to her as she told him her insecurities; felt his longing for his brother as he recalled similar feelings that she herself had then felt because of what he had done to her; heard his cruel laugh as he betrayed her trust and shared her secrets with older Slytherin students for laughs, to make him seem big…and what she found out…it wasn't just her. From the chain of memories that she had uncovered by entering the artefact she had discovered more about this wizard too, how he had betrayed others too: broken into the kitchens and ordering the house elves about; spoiling the Halloween dinner by telling them that it was cancelled during their third year. Stealing other students' things and destroying them out of spite. A bad egg.

And yet, in the many months that had passed since Tabitha had first seen that memory she hadn't been able to get out of her mind the feeling of emptiness that accompanied these acts that she had witnessed Black carrying out, as if each time he was out to settle a score but each time, when satisfaction should come yet more emptiness remained. She had remained within the artefact long enough to ascertain that in order to prove his loyalty to Voldermort he had even killed a muggle woman.

Now, Tabitha looked at the artefact, its uneven and unsymmetrical features leaving it nevertheless imposing, and thought back to what she had known of Regulus Black. He'd left in his fifth year, never finishing his OWLs. She recalled him boasting around the school of having spent the previous summer learning the Dark Arts. No-one had believed him, of course, and then there had been rumours that he was a member of the Dark Followers, the proto-group which eventually became the Death Eaters. Tabitha had taken little notice, however. She had shut her mind to the wizard who had taken what little confidence she had had left.

Stepping towards the artefact now Tabitha shook her head, thinking about the irony of it all. Regulus Black, whom she had confided so much, had ended his days in Azkaban and it had been through his ill-treatment of her that she had come to discover so much…

…and the boot is on the other foot now, she thought as she knotted the rope that was still next to the high arch securely around its spindly base. I know so much about you…after you pretended to be a friend, after you pretended to be a witch…after Rena Brown would listen to her worries and fears with a kindly and sympathetic ear, reassuring her, comforting her…after she found out it was Regulus Black after all…

But it was because of this that Tabitha had managed to achieve a feat proclaimed impossible. She had breached the artefact, used her memories as a seed and managed to weave her way through the information that was lodged there and returned. The accomplishment matched her skill, her impoverished magical ability. She was able to trace threads of thoughts and feelings, like a large pensieve, but instead of individual memories the void behind the arch contained the very soul of people. Somehow she could do it; somehow she had the ability.

Holding onto the rope she leaned back and let her mind go…

…and leaned forward. Tabitha had got out of the memories just in time as the feeling of oblivious serenity began to permeate her consciousness and she felt herself getting lost.

No. Nothing had changed. There had been no further developments with her artefact, well none more so than what she was investigating anyway and nothing that was significant enough to warrant immediate investigation. A part of her felt disappointed. Her mind flitted to when she could use arithmancy work, one subject she did excel in and she made a mental note to investigate further when she was back for good.

In the dim light under which the archway loomed Tabitha turned and began to make her way back down the branched corridor and turned onto the main passageway, remembering the first time that she had ever been down here. It had been up to Gregor to interview her and within the first half an hour he had taken her beyond the Mysteriour office. He had told her that what was done out there was irrelevant and had shown her a couple of artefacts therein, the latter being the Trunk of Persia which, unbeknown to her, had been her true interview.

Tabitha had spent far longer than Gregor had expected in its interpretation but she had solved it and the short, stocky wizard who would be her future boss had taken her on. But then there was the entrance test for the ministry, which Severus Snape had pointed out to her only a couple of days before and with undisguised glee, she had failed several times. Well, she thought as she headed back the way she had come, towards the door that led her out of the Room shaking the painful memory away like an insect, the archway had not changed, nor had its composition. If only she could have known this without having to come back to the office at such an hour.

Closing the door behind her she looked around the Mysteriour office, at the furniture and objects that lay therein. Tabitha would give it all up to be a normal wizard, to be able to do the spells as she was taught, not fail at everything…she wouldn't have to creep around at such an hour to find out about her artefact…even if it was her inability to perform most spells that wizards took for granted meant that she could see what they could not…if someone had asked her to choose then she would give it up like a shot.

She sat down at her desk and began to think about her mystery again, dismissing her treacherous thoughts as she opened up her desk drawer and reached for some parchment but before she could record her inspection of her artefact a streak of blue through the main office door brought Tabitha out of her reflective contemplation and she looked in surprise at the small post imp that had swiftly deposited onto the emptiness of her desk were a parcel. Atop stood a tiny form next to a letter, the imp yawning widely as it tapped its foot impatiently, waiting for it payment. Tabitha smiled as she reached inside her robe for a two-knut coin that the imp was waiting for and she picked it up with the back of its blue coat, much to its annoyance as it tried in vain to kick at her. Clearly it was not just her but the post imps who were also up at this time of the morning.

"There you are," said Tabitha as she placed the imp onto her desk and handing it the coin, turning from the retreating blue streak as it headed back towards the door and she looked at what it had delivered to her. Tearing open the letter she put a hand to her mouth as she took in the contents before pulling at the parcel's outer wrapping. Sinking to her chair Tabitha looked at items which had, until a few moments ago, been shrouded in parcelings before reading the letter once more.

It didn't make much more sense the second time around; but for the fact that it was from someone she trusted Tabitha would have ignored the fantastic things about which the author spoke. Because it was from Sturgis Podmore she did not.

"…if you truly wish to help cousin, you should wait by the hearth in your office…"

The letter was dated the day before and Tabitha wondered over the vagueness of her cousin's request. How did he know that she was back in the Mysteriour office rather than at Hogwarts? And if he knew she was there how long did he expect her to wait for a floo message?

Turning to the naked parcel Tabitha recalled the vagueness with which he had conveyed the information – so very un-Sturgis-like whose middle name was fastidiousness. She would prefer the situation two minutes' ago when the book that was sitting with worrying innocuousity was still wrapped up and she had no idea what it was. The book, which looked suspiciously like a children's story book looked back eyelessly, had been sent with scant information by Sturgis, who told her that she would need this in her new investigation. But how was this to do with any of this?

When she could not stand looking at the book any longer Tabitha tentatively turned the green cover boards and read the title page. It was indeed a children's story book containing the classic children's stories…Grimelda…the Elves and the Wandmaker…Inflamorella…sitting back in her desk chair she continued to flick through the book, looking at the line-drawn illustrations. What was here that was useful?

Closing the book carefully Tabitha got up and began to pace, regretting her wish to give it all up to be a witch with proper powers. What good was that if she was involved in such matters when she could be called weird by working here? She clenched her fists in annoyance. This was her life. This is what she could do with a smidgeon of magical ability. If it wasn't this, then she would be nothing.

It was rich coming from some wizards to call mysteriours weird, almost as bad as when she was a child. When you were a failure for so long that you began to believe it. "Why can't you be more like Robert?" She remembered her mother asking her with frustration on frequent occasions.

And then she got her letter, and she remembered thinking that this would explain to her mother why she wasn't like Robert but that only gave her family more ammunition.

And when she went to Hogwarts, it was a relief, the pressure to conform was taken away…only, she wasn't very good there either. But at least she was with wizards, and she was a wizard too, though felt lonely and found her confidante in the form of a witch a couple of years older than her.

Who turned out to be Regulus Black!

When she left, with moderately acceptable OWLS, all she wanted was the quiet life. Somewhere just to be her. No pressure to be a muggle or a wizard. That's why she loved her job; it was something she could do; it was her. Her particular abilities coupled with perseverance and determination allowed for the access to mysteries that had eluded others.

Looking back at the book on her desk, like an interloper before her mind returned to the secret that she could so easily uncover with her ability and his reaction to her attempts at searching out what Snape knew about the Universal Link. Cecilia Frobisher must be wonderful, thought Tabitha, for this wizard to defend their work so fiercely. The muggles she knew didn't live up to this description, in fact intellect on such a scale she had not seen in the muggle world. It had even been a muggle that had led the ministry to do what they had done with Regulus Black.

Or so Gregor had said. He had been the first to contribute to the ministry's storage of memories, a short-lived but fruitful scheme. Her boss had told her how, for the benefit of the whole of wizardkind the minds of the dead were emptied and stored…beyond. It had used to be an honour; the practice has been done for centuries as powerful wizards had donated their skills posthumously to help the government or more likely, in an attempt never to be forgotten. The brains tended by the Unspeakables were then used to process the information in situ, and Vincento, in the tradition of a long line of Mysteriours before him, had the job of collecting the knowledge and interpreting it before handing it onto various government departments. He didn't know what they meant; often the messages were very cryptic and could relate to events that had passed equally as much as future and present events.

It took a special kind of wizard to interact with the mysteries and both she and Vincento had pushed the boundaries in recent years about what was possible. It was the change of use that had prompted the need for the memories to be investigated close at hand, that was what Gregor thought. Probably because the ministry didn't believe that Voldermort was in the process of returning to power despite the often quite blunt messages telling them so. And then it was too late. As a reaction to the rise of Voldermort and his Death Eaters in the mid twentieth century the veiled archway was used to contain other memories, ones containing thoughts and skills which should never be left "out there". But nobody was able to read it. For an interpretation, it was reckoned, a wizard would have to go through the veil, which of course, was impossible. Until Tabitha Penwright focused hard one evening after she had heard the tale about Regulus Black and _felt _the answer.

Shooting a look at the book on her desk again she considered the one word that her cousin had left her with, as a seed to the secrets contained possibly within the book on her desk and definitely within the Universal Link. Science. It was a muggle thing of which she knew little. Her brother might know; after all he did science at school. Much as she knew he loved her she didn't fancy the repercussions from her mother if she were to find out she had asked.

And then Tabitha looked at the door that led out to the main corridor as muffled, uninterpretable voices began to grow. She froze, waiting for the moment that she could hear what was being said…

"…she knows we're coming and anyway I work here…"

Tabitha recognised that voice. She continued to listen, straining for any sound on the other side of the door.

"…but does she understand the gravity of what we are to ask of her…?"

"…she is not stupid…she will…"

And that too. Marching over to the door in order to solve the mystery of the people who were clearly looking for her Tabitha jumped as hammering on the panelled door ensued. She opened the door and gasped at the presence of the two particular people to be standing on the other side of it.

"Hello, cousin."

– Sturgis and with him another wizard. Severus Snape.

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Creeping into the McGonagall's study in the early hours of the morning was not the most intelligent of things that Hermione Granger had done that week. That month, she corrected herself stiffly as she closed the door quietly behind her. Why had she ever told Ron? Why had she ever thought she would be doing something right by easing her conscience?

Sighing deeply she recalled the cruel words he had said to her as she sealed McGonagall's office door with a variant of the usual spell, so employed because "Colloportus" was a trigger word that would result in the witch swooping into her own office and shaking the intruders by the ears. Hermione knew this from experience, though not her own, and she remembered hiding behind the pillar that was adjacent the office as Professor McGonagall had painfully removed said intruders (Ron and Harry) aurally.

The floor was cold and hard; typical of course for one made of flagstones. Though the castle was over a thousand years old they couldn't have installed some form of heating under the floor…or rugs? She realised she was staring at the floor and thinking when she should have been throwing floo powder into the fireplace and speaking clearly her fireplace of requirement and Hermione shook her head briskly as if to fling the mugglish thinking from her mind.

Looking at the back of the brick hearth Hermione focused on where she needed the floo connection to be and reached into the inside pocket of her robe, pulling out a bag of greenish powder. It had to be done, she thought absently, not caring that she was doing this for non-altruistic reasons.

"Sirius Black!" she declared, flinging the contents of the bag towards the back of the fireplace. She waited until the dust had transformed into greenish flames in the hearth before leaning forward and into the flickerings.

The scenery changed. No longer was she looking at ten-century old bricks but rather twenty-decade old wallpaper. She breathed. Sirius Black's study.

It didn't take long for Sirius to realise that there was someone in there was somebody in the fireplace and even less time for him to realise that it wasn't Harry. Sitting up from the wibacked chair into which he had been trying to rest Sirius bounded over to the fireplace, kneeling before it.

"Hermione," he whispered smiling a little at the girl. "It's very late. In fact, it's almost early." Sirius stopped; Hermione's worried face made his desire to tell her to go melt away to nothing. He sighed. "How can I help you?"

"Sirius," she began, holding onto her nerve as the confession she was about to make jumbled and fluttered past her mind's eye, "I – ". She stopped, and swallowed. In his father's study Sirius paused, waiting for her to continue.

And then he listened, mildly shocked, as the young girl went on to tell him not her feelings about the ministry regulations, how this had affected her family and how worried she was by it, but what she had been tricked into telling Umbridge, what she had done that had led her to be discovered by Umbridge and what Umbridge had told her she had to do. She told Sirius how afraid she was that it was her communication caused the ministry to find Cecilia Frobisher and that she didn't know what Penwright and Umbridge would do if they found out that she hadn't owled her former muggle studies teacher, which is what Umbridge had instructed her to do, before she returned to Hogwarts.

When she had finished, the girl fell silent clearly waiting for him – Sirius – to fill the void with kind words and sentiments. Sirius breathed, and replayed what Hermione had told him in his mind. She had contacted Cecilia whilst in hiding, for what: learning about science? She had put her in danger and had been found out by the ministry. And involved in tracking her down.

"And why are you telling me this, Hermione, what is it you want me to say?"

"I don't know, I – "

"You don't know? I once told you that you were the brightest witch of your age…how is it that you have now become the stupidest? You knew Mrs Frobisher went into hiding and yet you sought her out for your own gain!"

"But Harry!"

"Harry asked you to do this for him?"

"No but – "

"Then you were stupid; haven't you realised your actions have consequences? Didn't you think that, if Cecilia was hiding out then it might be a good idea to leave her be?" Sirius shifted his weight over his knees to rebalance, holding onto his arm where Lupin had taken a swipe at him. Like the conversation he was having right now it twinged irritatingly. Hermione paused and Sirius watched the fire flicker as the young witch seemed to be gathering her words.

"Ron said that too. Ron said Lupin was in a bad way. He said she didn't know she was in so much danger. He said…I might have been to blame!" Her voice became high pitched as if stifling a whimper.

"He's right," replied Sirius vindictively, his voice matching her high frequency with a low growl. "You did put her in danger. For all you know she is dead now."

"What can I do?" asked Hermione shrilly.

"Do?" Sirius held back as the annoyance that was rising in him swelled like an ocean wave. "Do nothing. If Harry asks you to help, refuse. If he asks you to make potions for him, refuse. If he asks you to find out information out for him, warn him, stop him from doing things that are rash and refuse to help him. Cause no more consequences, Hermione, and maybe we'll all live to see Mrs Frobisher again. Look," he said, his tone becoming more even, "the fire's are probably being watched – "

"Not this one," Hermione replied, "this is the one in the McGonagall's study, the one Harry uses to speak to you," she qualified.

"Well, you'd better be in bed. If you want to help, Hermione, make sure Harry's well. Support him. Make sure he is up to duelling, because when the potion is ready and he faces Voldermort again, he'll need to be."

"He's facing Voldermort?" Sirius said nothing. Surely the girl must have got the message by now. None of them should be interfering; nothing good would come of it.

"Sirius, can I ask you…? Was Lupin in love with Harry's mum, you know, when he was at school?"

"Why are you asking?" asked Sirius, confused. Why did she want to…_need to_ know this?"

"Only, he's with Mrs Frobisher now, isn't he? And did seem to love Tonks…"

"Look, forget it," he snapped Sirius. "I've already said too much. Keep your nose out. Do me a favour Hermione, if you have bad news to tell me about Mrs Frobisher in the future just… don't bother…!"

The fireplace dimmed and Hermione sat in the dullened darkness for a few moments, trying to get her head around what had happened. Sirius…he'd been so…horrible…!

In his father's study Sirius cursed aloud at himself for his behaviour towards her, pulling in frustration his hair and then put the heel of his hand to his head. She was a child who had come to him for help. As he got to his feet and strode towards the door he thought about the young girl's face damp with tears. She would be sitting in the McGonagall's office breaking her heart over this. Poor child!

Almost an adult, he corrected himself. Someone should have made sure they were well out of it! Dammit! Surely she needn't have been taken for safety so soon, not before she'd considered what he had to say to her. Okay, he had Harry's interest at heart, but it wasn't because his alternative was invalid…why had he taken it out on Hermione, though!

He knew it had been cruel, and he'd left a sixteen year old witch sobbing because of his pitiless words. He blocked it out of his mind as flopped onto the damp and dusty bed. Remus would be awake now, and tired. He would be exhausted…

…let him sleep, a part of his mind said. Sirius strode out of his father's study, and turned right, not left as if towards his own room, to where his friend would be, and instead rested a hand on his brother's bedroom door handle.

Pushing down, a small part of his mind wondered whether he should have told Cecilia Frobisher not to investigate the horcruxes, not have told her the story all those weeks ago. Would his insistence that it was his imagination have been enough to quell her curiosity?

Throwing himself onto his brothers freshly made bed (something Kreacher did with clockwork regularity and since his trust in him of his blood deed, had been doing with his own, and with the rest of the house) he sealed the door silently and thought about what needed doing. What must be done to put things right. If all went to plan, there would be far more saved than even he dared to dream.

The though of that wonderfulness, despite her being only a muggle, from the outside world…his mind flicked to that morning, when they made breakfast together…the evening before when he'd tended Moony…how he had wanted to...and now, before the plan was enacted she might be...

"…Sirius, do you want ham or cheese sandwiches?" Molly Weasley's voice had even managed to penetrate his brother's tomb-like room and Sirius stared at the door whence the question had been rudely thrust. Swinging his legs off the bed he strode across the mahogany-dark floorboards towards the door, checked that the "Colloportus" spell had actually worked before silently thinking "Alohomora" and he listened as the latch of the door became loose whilst he rattled the handle.

"Nothing for me Molly, I'll be down in a minute."

Even though it was the middle of the night Molly Weasley and Bathsheba Braddle were taking it in turns to cater for the Order and though he would have happily shut himself away up here to enable the larger plan to take effect it pleased the others if he made an appearance once in a while even if he knew he would have to keep many of his thoughts to himself: the emergency was far from over and each wizard was becoming more tired, grumpier and less amenable as the days went on.

There was so much to do; so much they were doing…keeping watch over Remus's cottage as the Ministry officials scoured it for anything incriminating…an ear to the ground and an eye on the Minister to discover information of worth…the recapture of several Death Eaters who claimed to know where Cecilia Frobisher was…all very exhausting and for Sirius, who had once been so active, so claustrophobic.

Penultimately looking at the decoration in his brother's room Sirius noted not for the first time that the décor, atmosphere and possessions were still exactly the same as Regulus Black had left it when he went out for the last time of 12, Grimmauld Place. When he went to his doom, corrected Sirius, when he went to tell Voldermort he had double-crossed him. When he essentially committed suicide.

If only he had been able to come to Sirius perhaps he could have helped his brother. But he also knew Regulus. He was a Slytherin through and through. They didn't need help, they didn't accept it. They considered it a sign of weakness to accept help and assistance from anyone, something that had caused Sirius to become suspicious of Snape's willingness to help him develop Harry's potion. It was clear early on, early on after he had deceived her with the potentially lethal Veritaserum, that the wizard had clearly accepted that there was little chance of succeeding in the defeat of Voldermort any other way.

Closing the door to Regulus's room Sirius began to make his way across the becarpeted landing and to the first flight of stairs. The noise below suggested some of the Order had come off watch duties and that some were none too happy about it. He sighed. He'd already replied to Molly and so she was expecting him down but he would happily have returned to his brother's bedroom and looked at those four walls than have to endure pitiful stories about how hairy it was out there. And he could have spent the time perfecting his own role in the ultimate plan involving Voldermort.

Alone.

Alone and on your own, that was the Slytherin unofficial motto. Nobody from that house ever did anything unless there was something in it for themselves. Why ask for help when the pride would be all the sweeter for achieving it alone? That was Voldermort's weakness. But to keep people at arm's length and never truly trusting anyone was also his greatest strength.

Truly, a Slytherin trait.

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	16. The Mysteriour

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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"What is this about, Sturgis?"

Tabitha dropped back as the two wizards swept into the office like two overgrown ravens wearing the magical community's colour of choice for after dark. She looked after them as her cousin looked with mild interest around the office. Snape on the other hand strode over to her desk and perused with undisguised contempt the contents of her desk.

"Excuse me!" she exclaimed as Snape picked up the book that Sturgis had sent to her. Tabitha recognised that look and wasn't going to put up with it in _her_ office. "Put that down, will you? What are you doing here, anyway?" She looked from Snape to Sturgis. Her cousin's expression changed from absent thoughts to the here and now as Tabitha brought him back to the present.

"When that idiot house elf woke me up to tell me that you were in mortal danger I naturally assumed this was the case." Snape looked up from the green-covered tome and placed it back on her desk. "As it was it was mistaken, having confused you with the previous occupant of your room, Merlin knows how. Nevertheless – " He looked across to Sturgis Podmore, breaking off sharply.

"And that gives you the right to come here to find me? I'll have you know I work for – "

"You want to know about the Universal Link?" growled Snape dangerously. "You have been sent to Hogwarts to discover this?" Tabitha nodded dumbly. "Then _listen_ and the information that we seek may suit all of our needs." He picked up the green-bound book from her desk and strode towards her, waving it in her direction menacingly. "Do you think this came to you by accident? Do you even know what this is?" Tabitha continued to stare at it as both it and Snape advanced quickly before shaking her head slowly.

"Only a book of children's stories, wizard ones not muggle ones," she added unnecessarily. "What has this to do with the Universal Link and Cecilia Frobisher? Sturgis?" Tabitha turned to look at her cousin who returned her questioning expression with one of gravity.

"It is not unlike the one that was used to determine the Universal Link," he began slowly, "but it is not identical. The muggle Cecilia Frobisher used such a book to formulate it. Now she is missing and in hiding, we no longer have it."

"But – " began Tabitha, her mind flitting to the letter that she had found in Snape's drawer waiting for her only to unravel it further to find the location of Cecilia Frobisher, but she bit back her sentence and fell silent.

"We do not have the Link intact," replied Snape, handing her "Mysterious Mythology", "however _you _could rediscover it. Being a Mysteriour, you have the ability." Tabitha looked at the book and then back at Snape, swelling anger beginning to overcome her. He was mocking her and her profession. How dare he?!

"And you think I could do something with a story book? You think I'm falling for this?" She turned to her cousin again and advanced on him. "Sturgis, whatever this is about, speak plainly! I don't understand why it is you're in my office at this time of the morning!"

Despite her annoyance Sturgis Podmore smiled back. He knew his cousin and how sensitive she was about her work and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"It is why _you_ are in your office at this time of the morning that we are concerned about, Tabs," he replied softly, watching her blush a little in his use of her nickname. "Don't answer just yet, wait till I've finished – there is no wrong answer to any of this: you went to Hogwarts because Umbridge made you?" Tabitha felt herself nodding slightly. "And she has compelled you to find out about the Universal Link? And teach, which you hate? And you'd like nothing more than to be back here with your work and think nothing of what you've been forced to do?"

Tabitha felt her shoulders sag. How well her cousin knew her; more so than her brother Robert. She looked back at Sturgis who was nodding too and she smiled at him in retaliation to the glare she could feel behind her courtesy of her colleague.

"How then would you feel about an exchange? Information for information? You can give Umbridge all she needs until there is no more need for her to know it in exchange for your help?" Tabitha paused as her cousin continued to talk to her softly. What did he mean? The telling of ministry secrets? To _Severus Snape_?

"Whose side are you on?" From behind her, Snape intoned the words like splintering wood, each syllable bouncing off Tabitha as if it were mere shards. She looked at him in surprise. "Are you, as a muggle-born, on the side of the ministry, and its security measures? Or do you care about – "

"You are asking me to tell you ministry secrets?!" blurted out Tabitha hotly. "Because I can assure you, I will not!"

"Is this worth it? All this security? All you're doing for Dolores Umbridge? Handed her over all the information she needs…?" Tabitha turned to the smouldering fire that was Snape, a pile that was sure to erupt in the anger and fury that he directed on occasions towards his students. She really didn't want to be in the way.

But then, she didn't have to explain herself…

"What do you want?" she repeated again, looking back at her cousin, whose short wispy beard was twitching sporadically and whose eyebrows were raised in surprise at her tone.

"Your help." It was not Sturgis who spoke those words but Snape. Gone was the potential blaze replaced instead with glacier-like stillness.

"Your help," echoed Sturgis, stepping towards Tabitha. "Share what you know and you will be going a great service to our world."

"Our world to be safe; the Security Acts have seen to that…" And I'm not twelve, nor twenty-two again either, she added silently.

"You're scared," he said softly, "you wouldn't be here if you weren't. Many others are scared...children who have lost parents…wives who have lost husbands…husbands who have lost families…all to the wretched Security Acts…"

"And you have an alternative? Or a shadow of one, a myth perpetuated by Dumbledore so he can undermine the Ministry? _I _have been where no-one has gone before!" Tabitha declared, looking between both trespasser wizards. "I have seen what only a mere handful has seen. And you have the…the…" She stopped, mainly because she couldn't think of appropriate adjectives to describe how she felt at their audacity.

"No," she replied decisively, folding her arms so the sleeves of her robe stuck out wildly. "This isn't anything to do with me. I'm here to do this job, and do it I will."

And there the conversation would have ended. _Should_ have ended. Sturgis Podmore and Severus Snape should have taken her at her word and accepted it, leaving the office and leaving her alone. They should have left her to continue the discovery of the Universal Link while she dreamed about solving mysteries. They should not have sent her a book of children's stories claiming it was going to help her understand the Muggle-Wizard connection.

"She faced Voldermort for something that wasn't her fight, Tabs." Instead of leaving with Snape Sturgis spoke these words to his cousin, resurrecting their conversation by his accountant-like meticulousness.

"What?"

"She faced Voldermort." Snape repeated the most important words in Sturgis's sentence.

"Yes," replied Tabitha stiffly. "I know. By "she", Cecilia Frobisher, you mean? Dumbledore said so at trial…"

"I _saw_ her, Tabs, with my own eyes. She stood in front of Voldermort even when she was suffering and dying. She is out there still, doing all she can but he needn't have done that. She gave it all she had – "

Tabitha stopped in her act of dismissing Snape. She might be caught up in disbelief because of Dolores Umbridge, but she didn't doubt Sturgis.

"Then she was foolish, your beloved muggle – " Snape snorted as he paced back towards her desk. "What?" He looked up from the copy of "Mysterious Mythology" and narrowed his eyes.

"Whereas you hide yourself away in here, delusions of credibility abounding and do heaven knows what with a load of old – "

" – mysteries," interjected Tabitha quickly. "Interpreting mysteries for the good of all wizards. And had it not been for Dumbledore's secret society – you are here for them; _from_ them, aren't you – _I_ would not be compelled to remain at Hogwarts and I would be here, with them. There might be things I can't do Severus Snape, but there are plenty of things I can do that other wizards can't! Not even your precious muggle." She put her hands on her hips in defiance, the change in stance doing nothing to aid the graceful hang of her robe.

"Then prove it! Help us!" declared Snape, banging his fist on the desk and making the letter that had come with the parcel that had been the book flutter gracefully to the red tiled floor.

"By doing what?" she asked, a slight tone of mocking in her voice.

"Describe to us…make us understand…what is being a Mysteriour like?"

Tabitha turned to the questioner. Had it been Snape then that would have been the end. Instead her cousin spoke to her using the same tone of voice he had use when he came to see her at Hogwarts…when she had been lost and confused, when he had comforted her. When she was getting nowhere in the muggle world…when he had been on the floo network to tell her of a job at the Ministry. Her wonderful cousin Sturgis, who had been there for her when no-one else had. Tabitha exhaled, considering how to frame her next few sentences.

"…what's it like? Being a Mysterior…it's like a double edged sword…there's always something different about us; Vincento says it s our gift. He's been doing it far longer than I have, though."

"And how do you do it?" intoned Snape, stonily. Tabitha said nothing, merely staring back at him silently. "Show us what you did, all of those things that you have done!" he demanded. In response Tabitha continued to say nothing. In despair Snape looked at Sturgis Podmore.

"Please will you answer Severus, Tabs?"

"Why?" she shot back. "He's not helped me, Sturgis. He's…" Tabitha felt herself shaking with annoyance under his gaze but more so because she couldn't exactly say what he'd done. It didn't matter: it was her realm and she was damned if they thought she was just going to roll over like a puppy and tell them anything they wanted to know.

"…a teacher. I'm not. Learning is what you do when you've forgotten everything you were taught at school. It's no wonder you have such horrible students that you do, Severus Snape," she added with bitterness.

"An instead you'd prefer to solve mysteries." It wasn't a barb, his words had no malice in them; Snape simply made a statement of fact.

"I have solved many," replied Tabitha, a touch of pride injected into the plainly returned statement.

"How?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." She walked towards Snape and then past him, her flat shoes squeaking a little on the tiles and pointed to a Ministerial certificate that hung next to her desk, her name picked out in gothic script. "This is where my allegiance lies." She jumped as Snape banged his hand on the desk again but her cousin moving towards her calmed her now-quickening pulse.

"I can understand why having your induction certificate means so much," he conceded, shooting a "let me handle it" look at the ashen-faced Snape. "I can understand where you feel your loyalties lie and you don't have to give us the details. What we need is for you to tell us how you do it. What in you makes you a Mysteriour and, say, me not? What do you do?"

Tabitha hesitated. She could quite happily tell her cousin everything he wanted to know, without having to know why or even care. She would quite happily have told him of the all of the mysteries and not have played the "Loyalty to the Ministry" card. But she knew that it wasn't him that wanted it, she knew it was Snape. Whatever Snape wanted to do with the knowledge of being a Mysteriour a large part of her wanted to keep it from him.

But then, he wouldn't have come all the way from Hogwarts with Sturgis to find her if her work wasn't important.

"How important?" Tabitha asked, looking at Severus Snape. "I know it's you who wants the information, not Sturgis, and I know you ordinarily wouldn't give two owl-hoots for me. I just need to know h– "

"The whole of our world could depend on what you tell us now." The words hung in the space between them like icicles on a washing line. Tabitha shuddered.

"And why do you so badly want it? This world-changing information? You have to search for me at my place of work? How relevant would the information of a barely proficient, inadequate witch be who is also a mad Mysteriour?"

"Tabs," said Sturgis soothingly. "The information is vital if we are to put up any defence against Lord Voldermort. Surely you can understand that? The security measures that have been put in place by the Ministry will be like paper to any attack that is planned – "

" – what your cousin fails to realise Podmore, is that the information she possesses is entirely relevant." Snape passed between Sturgis and Tabitha and stood between them menacingly. "I talk of course about the veil. The memory graveyard that your department cracked. There. We know about one of the mysteries already so now all you need to do is – "

" – that I cracked," Tabitha replied, an air of far-awayness in her voice.

"What?!"

"I cracked the mystery of the veil," she repeated serenely, before looking at Snape triumphantly.

"You? but you're…"

"I'm not an Unspeakable, no. Those clowns to do day to day things. All showy and false. No. I'm a Mysteriour. A specialist. The mysteries choose you, you see," she commented matter-of-factly. "Oh, on the surface I might be useless at exams, and everything else both wizardly and mugglish in this world, but I'm a Mysteriour. I solve mysteries and eventually I would have solved the one that your muggle friend solved before. So brave…"

"The mysteries choose you. And you solved the mystery of the veil. How?" Snape interjected, staring at Tabitha and eyeing her closely.

"So you want to know what's beyond the veil?" she replied. "Why should I tell you? What's in it for me Sturgis, if you don't mind me asking?" She leaned past Snape and looked at her cousin.

"Tabitha…"

"…well it's either you tell me or Voldermort will be using it to mount his attack," replied Snape revealingly. Tabitha shot him a look of concern.

"The veil? He plans to use the veil?" Snape nodded. "Then you'll need help to understand it, Severus Snape," she replied, taking a few steps to the door that led to beyond. "I can't show you here, I have to channel it when I get to it – " Her determined expression changed to one of uncertainty and she whispered, " – but Dolores…"

"Umbridge! You're so scared of her, aren't you?" growled Snape.

"No!"

"She bosses you and you just let her, Tabitha." Her cousin smiled comfortingly at her and Tabitha felt her face go red – and felt a switch flick in her head…"

"So you've discovered it, and you know that's where memories are kept. Those of the dead. Those that the befuddlers take…" concluded Tabitha. You need to know nothing more and you don't need to be here any more." She folded her arms and looked defiantly at Snape.

"Here's a hypothesis," continued Snape, ignoring her, "suppose you are killed, in the early eighties by a crony of Voldermort and you are discovered by the Ministry. Before the funeral, what happens to the memories? They are stored…

"…beyond the veil…" whispered Tabitha, shuddering. "How do you know this?"

"Because I was there the night Regulus Black was murdered," said Snape. "It could have been me, carrying out orders at a whim of a mad wizard. It is the storage of his memories intact which are the very weapon, through a Mysteriour, which Voldermort hopes to utilise to his own ends." He shone beady black eyes at Tabitha who felt herself shudder and she looked at Sturgis.

"You're not suggesting that I…"

"You could aid the Order of the Phoenix Tabitha, and help us. Help us win the fight. He murders muggles, people like our family, Tabs. Without even thinking about it."

He murders people like out family, Tabitha echoed. Chance would be a fine thing. She frowned and scolded herself for thinking such a terrible thing.

"You could help," repeated Snape stonily. Yes, thought Tabitha, I could. But she folded her arms and looked away.

"No."

"You don't want this to happen Miss Penwright, surely?" said Snape. Tabitha frowned.

"In the same way that I will not be coerced to assist Dark Wizards I will not be assisting any rebel movements."

"I understand," said Snape.

"I am a Mysteriour and take my job seriously." He said nothing and Sturgis took a step forward.

"If Umbridge is discredited Tabitha, she will no longer be your boss. She won't be able to order you around any more. She won't be able to make you go back to Hogwarts and you'll be able to go back to your mystery and solve it."

"…to go back to the old way of working," sighed Tabitha dreamily, "without the time regulations and the regimentation. To investigate in the way we should…to work organically, like we always did…"

"…Kingsley Shacklebolt will replace her…he'll allow you to work in whichever way you choose…" Tabitha smiled and nodded decisively.

"I'll get you the information you need…if you can help _me_, Severus Snape…"

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What actually _is_ a Mysteriour? Thus far you have heard the definition in various forms from one of the main characters of this story. There probably isn't a muggle equivalent for a Mysteriour in the same way that there isn't the need for car mechanics in the wizard world. Similar to how mechanics can "tell" the problem and know by a kind of intuition how to solve the problem and the one that was going to occur in thirty-thousand miles' time a Mysteriour uses their instinct to get to the bottom of and understand incredibly tricky metaphysical magic.

The position of Mysteriour evolved from the need to not just store away highly magical (and highly dangerous) artefacts but also to interpret what they mean so that their owners or originators could be:

killed

imprisoned for life in Azkaban

imprisoned for life in Azkaban before being killed, which is essentially the same as (a).

Many wizards were employed to get rid of the backlog of dodgy and otherwise dubious objects, many of them yielding easily to some of the simpler spells but it was the ones that refused to give up their enigmatic presence that eventually required specialist help. From a couple of dozen Unspeakables (so called because that was what a lifetime of mystery-breaking left the average wizard who worked there) an elite two or three were chosen to work on the most difficult of artefacts. No-one, least of all Mysteriours themselves knew how they did it; traditionally they kept themselves to themselves as they were, to put it kindly, a little on the weird side. As we have found out through Tabitha Penwright it is the weirdness and off-the-wall approach that goes the furthest to solve the unsolvable.

Few wizards knew about them and fewer still understood them. They were one of the oddballs of the Ministry for Magic. However it is their strangeness and unusual approach that is now not going to condemn them but allow them to be pardoned, celebrated even, as Tabitha Penwright prepared to explain everything to Severus Snape.

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"…prophecies – that's Vincento." Tabitha pointed from the main corridor Beyond the door from her office and gestured quickly to her right, to a small branched passage similar to the one where her mystery stood further up and to the left. It opened out into the dimensionless void in which the globular prophecies shimmered and sparkled. The Mysteriour paused in her transit from one end of the corridor to the other and listened for the faint ululation of what always sounded to Tabitha like disembodied voices.

"So it is possible for someone to know all about this stuff and still remain sane?" Tabitha shot a look at Snape whose unsneering told her he was not asking her out of malice. Nevertheless she chose to ignore it and continued to walk in the direction of the veil.

"To be able understand more than one thing at once takes a certain mind, wouldn't you agree?" she asked at length. "It is just for the unique approach we take you need a unique mind. It was a tragedy that we were all caught up with the paperwork from the last battle with Voldermort or I would have been able to continue with my interpretation."

"And where do you stand on all of this? Miss Tabitha Penwright, Mysteriour?" This time it looked as if Snape was sneering; Tabitha eyed him carefully, watching his mouth curl at the corners. They neared the back wall of the Room of Artefacts and Tabitha turned, facing the tall veiled archway. She sighed and stepped her right foot forward. With able synchronicity Snape stepped into her rhythm.

"Well, like everyone really," she replied, playing it safe. "I want to see him dead as much as the next wizard, gone and finished."

"But the information is hard to keep," prompted Snape as they bore down on the archway. "Did you eve consider that the Dark Lord might have other weapons of choice?

"Like what?"

"Well, muggle weapons would be ideal for killing wizards if by chance wizards were incapacitated. A physical breach of the body for example, a gun or a knife," he added.

"Just as it would for a muggle," replied Tabitha swiftly. "

"Well actually, no. If the right spell was performed that suspended the wizard from his powers then almost certainly kill, especially as they are not as likely to respond to them. Muggles know to move out of the way; they are used to their normal dangers. We, on the other hand, are not and this is where the problems lie." He stopped walking when Tabitha did and he watched her intently. She was staring at a point about eight inches away, concentrating hard before turning to look at Snape slowly.

"Theoretically speaking," replied Tabitha slowly. "That would make sense. It is however, impossible to know unless a wizard had opted for muggleness. It is a good theory though."

"It is thanks to Cecilia Frobisher," continued Snape recommencing his gait as Tabitha began to walk again. "Were it not for her perseverance and her establishment of the Connection…Raymond Lully was the start of it, he found it, and because of Voldermort he died and his secret would have been lost forever. To you as someone who solves mysteries, I know you won't be able to let this go." He handed her the book that had arrived by post earlier that early morning and paused as she stopped again.

"There's not much I'll be able to do with this; I'll try everything I know, of course. Dolores said there is a great mystery that has been solved already but then lost. I would give anything to know what it was…"

"And the veil?" They began to walk again and the archway ahead of them began to loom loftily. Tabitha said nothing for a moment as she left Snape standing at its front as she walked round it purposefully. Eventually she answered the wizard's question.

"The veil." Standing next to Snape again she held out her hand unnecessarily as a kind of introduction to the inanimate object. "The veil…it kills people…kills wizards…

"How…why? Why does it kill us?"

"I have no idea," replied Tabitha, completing her circuit. She grabbed Snape's arm as he took another step towards it, leaning forward but Tabitha put her hand on his chest.

"No!" Snape looked at Tabitha, his eyes like gimlets. "Be careful…it's alluring, and it's deadly."

"But you…" He stared at Tabitha, "and you agreed – "

"I know. You need to see these first," she replied firmly. "We'll return."

Tabitha led the way past the veiled archway and on into another corridor, lower vaulted and more cavernous than the first. Ahead of them ethereal glows were picked out on either side of the wall and, as they neared their grisly identity became apparent.

"Unspeakables work on these, that I know," said Snape at length as he examined one or two of the exhibits. "What are they?" Tabitha walked ahead, touching her palm close to one of the many thousands of jelly-coated brains whose glow pulsed mysteriously.

"A store-house," she began, turning and smiling faintly at Snape who put his hand near one too. Disappointment flickered across his face for a brief moment as the brain he had chosen did not glow as Tabitha's had done. She smiled to herself before continuing her explanation as Snape dropped his hand, annoyed. "They are the power for the veil or rather, what's behind it. The memories could not just exist beyond the veil on their own and so, when very powerful wizards came to die many of them decided that they wanted to find a way to store their magical learning and experience. They came up with the veil, others of which exist throughout the world though in different forms. At the start they had to use their actual brains, but the Unspeakables working there at the time came up with a new method of storing the memories of wizards of note without the necessity of keeping their brains but they kept the magical power storage brain-shaped." Tabitha snorted mirthfully before adding, "that's Unspeakables for you." She looked back down the corridor where the archway and veil were a mere few inches high now. "Knowing that made my interpretation of my artefact much easier, I can tell you." She dropped her hand and fell silent.

"You'd choose to do this? This type of work?" Snape's tone expressed his incredulity. "Why?"

"It's an honour," replied Tabitha, her voice becoming distant and far away. "All mysteries are an honour. To have the ability to interpret things usually hidden to everyone else…" She looked at Snape suddenly. "Surely you understand this well, seeing as you and Mrs Frobisher discovered something hidden?" She folded her arms. In return, Snape's fists rested on his hips.

"So why come to Hogwarts?" he replied, returning her question unanswered and delivering her a question of his own.

"The place needed filling," Tabitha replied plainly. "My work over…I was spare," she added a touch bitterly.

"And the Ministry you claim to honour and respect, they didn't respect you," he replied, his voice returning to the mocking tone to which Tabitha was used. "They don't even respect wizards!"

"You mean the security laws?" Tabitha watched Snape nod. "Everything had been tightened by law for the good of things. It is intended to get rid of half breeds and prevent muggle interference…that can only be for the good!"

"You believe the propaganda?" Snape's question echoed around the wide, cavernous corridor but Tabitha did not reply. Instead, she put her hand close to one of the brains again. Obediently it glowed under her hand. "Pray, what is to happen to happen to half breeds and muggles under this Security Act?" Tabitha turned to Snape again and shrugged.

"You could find out from the statutes in the lobby," she replied dismissively. "Any muggles caught will be befuddled and any half breeds…_dealt_ with. The best thing we can do is distance ourselves from these creatures at a time when we are most vulnerable. As for muggles, it is also for their own protection." She took a few steps back from Snape whose face had become set as a hostile mask and tried the next brain. It glowed, but less brightly than the other and she removed her hand and folded her arms.

"For their own protection? Tell me, what does the law say will protect them?"

"They are prevented from marrying wizards or having anything to do with our world."

"And half breeds? Vampires, werewolves and the like?"

"Imprisonment, if they come quietly. They can be locked away for our safety until they die." Tabitha's eyes widened in surprise as she realised Snape was shaking his head.

"Dreadful," he replied, his voice a low growl. "And you, I can't believe you of all people…your circumstances in coming to Hogwarts…you have muggle family?"

"I do!" Tabitha replied firmly. "And what of my education? This isn't about me, but the wizard world as a whole! It has to be done for security!"

Silence reigned. It was a reasonable length of sovereignty, one that surely would have warranted an historian to write a biography of it. Upon its demise it was succeeded by pity, a short but fruitful period of influence.

"I feel sorry for you Miss Penwright, that you so wholeheartedly believe this." Snape looked at her, his expression making her feel disconcerted. She could deal with contempt, disdain and scorn from him but sympathy? Tabitha rallied well and stepped towards Snape.

"You talk about this like you believe muggles to be equal, Severus."

"Up to a point, we are."

"If that were so then they would be admitted to Hogwarts." If not in Tabitha's body language then her tone indicated that she thought the idea was absurd. "But they are not admitted. "If anything muggle schools have the right idea. They call it inclusion.

"And you know this because…?" This time it was Snape's turn to look doubtful.

"My family is muggle. My niece and nephew go to a muggle schools. Though I must say, it could work at Hogwarts." She turned her attention to the brains again and looked at them distantly. She didn't see Snape's solid stance as he stared at her, wordlessly.

And then he intoned, "Muggle children? At Hogwarts?" The words came out almost as a mocking laugh and looked to see if Tabitha was laughing too. She wasn't. When he realised this he stopped and stared at her again.

"But you can't be serious." He repeated the words that he had already spoken in his head waiting for Tabitha to let him in on the gag.

"They would have access the information," she began.

"And what's the point when they couldn't do magic?!" Snape's tone echoed down the corridor as he roared his exclamation at Tabitha. To her credit Poodle Penwright stood her ground firmly.

"Well," she continued, "it is that they have the right, the opportunity...the point is for them to feel included. If we are to go along with your theory that muggles are more equal than the Ministry say they are…obviously if the headmaster or headmistress of the school set up practical entry then this would eliminate most of them…" She trailed off when she registered Snape's expression and waited for Snape to scoff at her stubbornness of opinion. When he didn't it was her turn to look unconvinced. But he wasn't laughing at her idea.

"You would have been admitted in the first year that way." It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact. Tabitha nodded.

"Not that I am suggesting it because of my lot," she added. "It is the only fair way, if you think about it. If muggles are equal, up to a point as you said, then they should – "

" – get the opportunity." Snape paused and appeared to be contemplating the notion. Then he stared at Tabitha again. "And your boss, she knows about your thoughts on this matter?" Tabitha Penwright gave him a startled look.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he sneered.

"I would," replied Tabitha, "'cos it's the right answer. Dolores wants more exclusivity, not the other way round. My ideas would not be popular in the current political climate anyway, look: can we forget teaching? I thought you were here to see this…?" She gestured along the rows of brains.

They continued to walk further down the passage and Tabitha proceeded to expand on the rows of brains on display. Snape queried the quantity, feeling that there were rather more brains than possible wizards who might have wanted to bequeath their powers of cognition to the Ministry.

More mysteries followed though Tabitha did not go into great detail, continuing to talk about the mysteries until she finally she led him along an identical-looking corridor until they reached the veiled archway.

"All of those are nothing compared to this," she gestured proudly. From the other side of the arch the view was almost entirely the same as from the other and, as before, Snape stared at it, almost hypnotised by its sporadic movements.

"It's a doorway to another place, one where mere wizards cannot go."

"Except you."

"Except me," Tabitha conceded. "For everyone…for most people…it's a one way ticket. Beyond the veil contains a soup of memories, donated ones from those famous wizards; accidental ones from unfortunates who have strayed too far; memories from _fugitives who gave up their right to keep what they knew concealed_." Tabitha stopped and she realised her voice had grown hard and more severe. She stepped past Snape and to the very edge of the veil before glancing over her shoulder.

"Something that I dare say You-Know-Who would give his right arm for. Great power, in the wrong hands." Snape said nothing by nodded slowly.

"So, how does this connect to the Universal Link?" She stepped back from the veil, and smiled at Snape in the same way a mother might when her child had done something remarkable.

"When you return to Hogwarts," said Snape, looking down his long nose. "There's no reason for me to conceal it from you any longer. Might I ask Miss Penwright, how did you do it?"

Tabitha didn't reply straight away. Instead she knelt at the foot of the archway, to the right of Snape and held up a cord. Too thick to be a rope it held all the appearance of being –

"…the Twine of Togo…"

"Yes," nodded Tabitha, a little surprised at Snape's identification of the material. "A true mystery indeed. Had it not been for my colleague I would not have been able to do it, but once he had solved it I knew that I could use it to…go beyond." She pointed to the edge of the veil.

"This is where I went down. I told no-one before I did it…I didn't have the time. I knew I could do it and I knew how." Taking the Twine in her hands she leaned back as if to penetrate the veil itself, catching Snape's eye in the process. Tabitha stepped away and the small sag in Snape's shoulders didn't pass her by. It had been the same reaction that Gregor had displayed when she had brought him down for the first time although it had taken the elderly wizard some persuading that she could actually return after he had put up a shield charm between her and the enticing fluttering fabric. When it came to life and death few wizards had anything less than a strong view about it.

"Now I know how to do it, I've been there and back…" I could do it again now…

A little while later the Mysteriour and the teacher made their way back towards the entrance that would take them back into Tabitha's office. Nothing was said by either of them as she led the way and Tabitha contemplated her future, which would contain rather more solvable mysteries and much fewer petulant children. The door of the office was nearly upon them and suddenly Tabitha stopped and turned to look at Snape in the dimness.

"Cecilia Frobisher really must be an extraordinary muggle for such efforts to be made on her behalf."

"You have no idea," replied Snape. "Her work was groundbreaking and the effects will be felt for many a coming year." He paused, before continuing, "she was declared misborn, hence a fear for her safety." Tabitha felt herself shudder, understanding what the implications of such a declaration could mean.

"After you," said Tabitha, holding open the heavy-looking but as light as a feather door that led back into her office. Snape looked at it and then back to her.

"Before we go, can you tell me Miss Penwright…you've told me a good deal about the veil…how did you manage it? How do you manage it when others cannot?"

Tabitha felt herself sigh, not because she didn't want to say, but because she wasn't sure how. Scrolling back in her mind to the time she had done it, and the time afterwards she pictured what she had done and felt at the time.

"Because I am a Mysteriour," she began, "things…magical things, behave differently for me. When I knew that I could do it, it was as if I already had." This time she stopped, hoping her information had been sufficient. When Snape did not move Tabitha concluded that it was not.

"Sometimes I feel I can switch it off…to get it to work…I…have to forget myself. Yes," she concluded, "that's it…like switch that I can turn off and on here…"

"How? How do you do it? You can see the past from memories, like a pensieve?" Tabitha shook her head.

"Its not like seeing into the future or the past…its like seeing into the present…the way things are. From there I can interpret…so much…" She jerked her head away from her gaze with Snape and looked back down the corridor. "Everything is so much clearer…" Tabitha looked back at Snape.

"Why? Will this help? What I've told you? To defeat Voldermort?"

Without replying Snape pushed open the door that he had held open with his hand and looked through it, waiting for her to walk through. As Tabitha passed Snape nodded and he followed her out into her office.

"I expect I'll see you at Hogwarts." Snape spoke the words to the top of Tabitha's head; the Mysteriour had sat down at her desk and was perusing the volume of "Mysterious Mythology." She looked up and nodded.

"In a few hours," she replied. "If you'd like to floo you can use our fireplace. Or the one in the corridor." She looked back down, leafing over a page in the book.

Striding towards the door Snape pushed down on the door handle of the Mysteriour office and took a step out, standing on the green carpet strip that lined the long corridor. He looked to the right, noting the fireplace that Tabitha Penwright had mentioned as he waited for the door to click closed behind him.

Making his way up the corridor, past the aforementioned hearth and on in the direction that he and Sturgis Podmore had hurried down hours earlier Severus Snape folded a few of the pale strands of hair over in a swiftly-produced black handkerchief.

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It was the weekend, ordinarily a time for other pursuits than work. A time when the papers have been hastily shoved higgledy-piggledy into the in-tray to be sorted on Monday, the coffee cup's dumped in the sink and the last one out of the car park was a rotten egg. For Cecilia Frobisher however work was about to begin. One long weekend of it.

Unlike the weekend before when Dudley had arrived home with his father on the Friday evening this week her objectionable tutee would be coming back from boarding school the next day. That suited Cecilia just fine: her week had been busy not just preparing lessons but establishing a credible premise for an embryonic hypothesis for the cure for lycanthropy. In her mind though, Cecilia preferred not to call it anything at all and, when opportunity arose she seized upon it to continue with it.

Her position in the Dursley household had not changed one bit since her confrontation and eventual heart-to-heart with Petunia Dursley. Indeed, the woman of the house had continued to treat her just as she had done before, calling her by her married name and enquiring to the subjects that Dudley would be pursing at the weekend. Once or twice Cecilia thought she had caught a glimmer or two of insight to indicate the fact that they weren't the same people who had met just over two weeks ago: Mrs Dursley had been true to her word in not evicted Cecilia and Cecilia had been true to hers by continuing to tutor Dudley.

In fact Dudley would not be at Privet Drive until around lunchtime and Cecilia had taken the chance to puzzle over he last remaining strands of her picture. She was close: she knew it. Only a hairs' breadth away from coalescing all that she understood scientifically about lycanthropy and nearer still to proposing a possible solution to Remus's condition.

She pretty much had her theory and had been rather shocked by her own findings, or at least to where the secondary evidence pointed. If what she thought was true, and indeed she had not explored all of the avenues or the very least asked Remus about it, then there was the possibility that a cure could be derived.

A cure for Remus. 

Stepping away from the desk tucked away behind the door of the bedroom Cecilia made her way across to the room's small window. She looked down at the perfectly manicured lawn that she had idly watched Mr Dursley mow, flatten and trim the day before and let her mind empty of worry. Her main worry had been securely sealed inside several trunks and buried at the bottom of her stomach. That consisted of her length of stay and concerns for Remus and the whole of the wizard world in general. Since she had been there she had received no correspondence or contact and as the days had gone by doubt and concern over this had slowly been adding to her fears like coins to a moneybox.

Her eyes followed Mrs Dursley as she walked up the garden path and began to hang washing onto the new-ish looking rotary dryer. At least she could concentrate on Remus now her ideas about Harry's potion had been sent to Severus Snape. At least she could think that the hours spent here in isolation from everything else in the wizarding world would eventually be worth something to the man she loved.

Not for the first time did Cecilia wish that she could talk to Snape. She badly wanted to ask him whether he had received her letter and what he thought of her ideas. She wanted him to criticise several parts of it in his usual caustic style. In her mind Cecilia was whisked back to when they worked on the potion together in the early hours of the morning, where raw professionalism and mutual respect spurred them on. How she wished she could be with him now to talk about what seemed to be completely ludicrous, and therefore all the more likely to be true.

It went like this: the moon played a vital role in the werewolf's life, controlling his actions and leaving him exposed to its will. It had something to do with the energy it bestowed upon the earth through its small, but important, gravitational force which held it in its orbit. The gravitational pull of the moon and the earth as its rock were equal and so on the face of it the moon should have no effects whatsoever on anything on earth but, as any fisherman could tell you, the moon does indeed have an influence, something that upon which their livelihood depended: tides. The gravitational pull of the moon caused the earth's tides.

And it was at this point in the story two nights before that Cecilia had had her first breakthrough: the moon at its fullest exerted the most extreme force of gravity upon the tides producing ones that were at their highest (and conversely on the opposing coast lowest). This was the key to the nature of the werewolf, Cecilia had deduced and therefore the key to the cure. So, what about the werewolves themselves?

From the "Universal Link" work Cecilia knew for example, that energy interacted with the DNA of a wizard to alter it so the gravitational force caused a change in energy within the werewolf's cells then this would tie in, further weight adding to this hypothesis because Lily Potter's notes detailed that only magical beings, once bitten by a werewolf in its lycan form, could become werewolves themselves; muggles, she noted, died after period of extreme pain. Lily referred later on to the subject of pain and that werewolves, that during certain transformations in the year they suffered extremely.

That was one part of the notes that Cecilia had not understood: Lily in her teenage years had described in horrific detail the experiences of the werewolf, something Cecilia wished she had had a chance to explore: that the werewolf would experience almost unbearable torture within its body, something which could last for almost two hours as if every fibre of the werewolf's body was on fire and he would lose all control of mind and body. Once this was over the werewolf would be inclined to attack anything that was within a few hundred yards of itself, feasting on the flesh until the sun rose. The times of the year, Lily explained, was at the time of a lunar eclipse.

Cecilia watched Mrs Dursley walk back up the path towards the back door of the house and she shivered, swallowing a nauseous wave in her stomach as she recalled reading the description. Had Remus been through this? There had been a lunar eclipse almost a month before. She had mentioned it to him and commented on the view. Sirius had been with him. Had he experienced such terrible pain and then gone on a bloody rampage? Had a young Lily Potter witnessed perhaps Remus going though such terrible things? Cecilia had gone over this in her mind the night before, pacing and contemplating as the shock set in and now the longing to speak to Snape so he could talk to her about it turned to an ache in her chest.

Pulling her mind away from the macabre images in her mind she focused on her biological premise. As she had supposed in the past, Cecilia had returned to the idea that the lycanthropy condition was passed on parasitically, akin to malaria. It would even make sense too that the parasite would reside in the red blood cells of the werewolf because, having no nucleus and therefore no DNA, the parasite could remain for the whole of its host's life without being affected by magical spells.

And now, the last bit of her theory which had taken up a considerable amount of the early hours of that morning. The part, Cecilia suspected, would have caused Snape, were he to hear it, to dismiss it until he had considered it himself and then he would rework it until it became his own: the energy from the moon caused the parasite's reproductive cycle to be activated.

On ordinary nights of a full moon the energy was enough to cause the cells to change and trigger off usual werewolf traits: howling, chasing and hunting, seeking victims. The parasites would reproduce and the condition would lie dormant in the cells until the next month. It was only when the moon was at its most influential, during the time of a lunar eclipse time, that the reproductive cycle was accelerated and increased, causing competition within the parasitic colonies causing immense agony and pain, causing real lunacy and delirium for the time that Lily Potter had described, a time, which Cecilia noted sadly, coincided with the entire duration of a lunar eclipse. It was likely that the person they didn't transform into a werewolf until the parasites had reduced to the optimum number, before prompting vicious and widespread massacre of everything in the werewolf's path.

The door below clicked closed and Cecilia looked at the blue-green swirled patterned carpet where the dining room was. Petunia Dursley would soon be coming upstairs and calling out to her to discover whether she was up and what she wanted for breakfast. Not that Cecilia was ungrateful for Mrs Dursley preparing her meals for her: the woman insisted and would not let her lift a finger. But it felt a not a little restrictive and would have liked to have suited herself, or been able to cook for herself and Remus, back in their cottage.

Back in their cottage.

Cecilia looked at her bedroom door, duly locked to ward off any further accidental intrusions from Vernon Dursley in the middle of the night and she waited for the squeak of the top step.

There. Petunia Dursley had landed. It would be just three seconds from then until:

"Miss Wells? Are you up?" Two more steps. Then a pause. "Miss Wells?"

"Good morning, Mrs Dursley." Cecilia crept towards the door and addressed the wood. "I'll be down shortly."

"Then I'll put the kettle on, and cook some toast. Okay?" she added when Cecilia did not reply.

"That would be lovely," she managed, hoping that Petunia Dursley wouldn't engage her long in inter-pine communication, as had been her way since their Conversation. To her relief the top step squeaked again and Cecilia felt her heart beating quickly behind her ribs as Petunia Dursley descended. It began to slow as she heard the tap in the kitchen turned on and water filling the kettle.

Turning back towards her desk Cecilia sat upon her unmade bed and read through the three pages of A4 paper that she had written down all that she could surmise of the condition known as lycanthropy, holding it close to her and folding her arms. The paper crinkled as she skipped over the hypothesis again. It fitted. Or rather, from the information that she had available she had come to the most likely conclusion. Then she looked at the sheet of paper which contained a half finished piece of writing and she picked that up too, read through it before laying it back onto the table.

Hastily Cecilia flung aside the letter (for that was indeed what it was) onto her pillow and rose swiftly. Feeling for a pen she sat in the chair from which she had paced and to which she had hurried many times during the previous night as she had added, crossed out, amended and inserted words before writing what she had just discarded. Now Cecilia continued to write the partner to the first, its spouse without whom the first would be entirely without purpose. And within a few minutes she had hastily finished before uniting them in envelopic matrimony.

Downstairs a few plates yielded to gravity as Petunia Dursley laid out the breakfast table and Cecilia got back up and stretched her legs. Done. All her work, the culmination of all the knowledge and understanding of lycanthropy, of science, of the nature of wizards and of magic condensed into an hypothesis. And a cure.

Of sorts.

It had been strange how it had all come together. Like her theory about the muggle-wizard connection, more commonly known as the Universal Link, it hadn't come about evenly. Bits and pieces would come together, like the isolated features of the picture of a jigsaw puzzle within the straight-edged frame. Other sections had grown in isolation before interconnecting pieces, like embracing arms, encompassed isolated islands of pieces until, before she knew it, she could see the glorious whole. That was, if all the pieces were for the right puzzle and if, to make it accurate, all of the pieces were there.

Cecilia threw open the door of the small wardrobe that stood beside the desk and reached in for a change of clothes to exchange for the ones that she had been in for a day and a night. How right she was depended on so many, many things. As she pulled off her thin sweater and unbuttoned her cord trousers and discarded them without thought she quickly ran through her extrapolated prediction as her pulse began to quicken.

It would need to take a month to prepare in order to absorb the lunar energy, as a variation of the classic wolfsbane potion, but with the addition of silver nitrate. The details were sketchy but the gist of it went that, for the best possible effects the potion should be administered during a lunar eclipse. Silver nitrate, the so-called lunar caustic which caused Remus those ill effects was a key ingredient, something which, though untested, had likely caused the parasites in his cells some harm. The lunar caustic needed to be of sufficient concentration to eliminate all of the parasites outright, an outcome which would be most effective during a lunar eclipse rendering the werewolf free. Cured.

Theoretically.

Because of course silver reduced to a metal was a neurotoxin on its own damaging the sodium ions in the nerves and inhibiting energy metabolism. This, of course, would be the fate of the lycanthropy parasites causing debilitation and even death. However, if the concentration and dosage of the silver nitrate was misjudged then it would kill the werewolf. She looked back at the letter before reaching down to the bottom desk drawer.

Cecilia pulled on her underwear and then a pair of jeans before the long-sleeved, high necked sweater and shook her head. Her flattened hair flicked past her face and she reached down for her hairbrush.

It wouldn't be misjudged. When the potion was made, when Severus made it and Remus took it, the potion that she had envisaged, built on sound evidence and pure hope, would cure him.

But it was complicated.

Cecilia pulled her hairbrush harshly through her hair and winced as a few hundred follicles were distorted painfully. It could easily go so wrong, as well. When they met again and she discussed it with him, she knew Remus would try the potion. He would, Cecilia knew, because he wanted to be normal again, and he wanted to be normal for her. He would trust her.

Cecilia shook her head. But did she trust herself? All she knew was it was complicated and largely based in theory. A shot in the dark.

It would work.

The reaction had to be just right, just right to kill off the parasites in his system but leave him alive. It would inhibit their growth and hasten their eradication. Harry's potion was less complicated than this and she couldn't do it alone. But there was one person she knew who could.

Tying back her hair and unlocking her bedroom door Cecilia stepped out onto the rose-pink landing carpet and wished for the hundredth time that she had someone to talk to. Not just someone. But he was unfortunately otherwise engaged in teaching at Hogwarts. She took a few steps down the stairs before doubling back and re-entering her room. She could speak to him. Kind-of.

Pocketing the plump letter Cecilia headed back downstairs once more, through the hall and into the dining room where Petunia Dursley was serving a breakfast of scrambled egg and toast. She gestured towards the chair opposite the sliding glass back door and handed her a cup of tea which Cecilia noticed was black before extracting more toast from the toaster.

"I trust you slept well, Miss Wells," Petunia commented as she sat to Cecilia's right, usually her husband's place. "I'll be changing your bedding today and getting it washed; it's such a lovely day, don't you think? If you could bring them down for me?" In between a sip of tea Cecilia nodded as Petunia Dursley sat next to her.

"My Duddie should be home soon," Mrs Dursley continued. "He is such a good boy you know; he's made himself such nice friends." She leaned towards Cecilia conspiratorially. "You know, I did wonder, when he was younger…he was so jealous of his cousin…and our attention to him…he might have turned out…on the wrong side of the tracks…" She straightened up and sat stiffly, sipping her scorchingly hot black coffee.

A few moments passed and Cecilia chewed her toast as she considered the epistle she had just penned. Perhaps Petunia –

"Ooh, he's home!" exclaimed Mrs Dursley as the bell rang sporadically. She flung down her cup and plumped her hair. "My Duddie!" She leaned next to Cecilia.

"Mrs Dursley." Cecilia turned to look at her as the doorbell rang five or six times again. "I have a favour to ask you." From her jeans pocket she pulled the letter that she had spent the previous night preparing.

Petunia Dursley eyed it beadily at it before staring in the direction of the madly-ringing doorbell and she whisked wordlessly out of the dining room and into the hall, half-closing the door and heading towards the demanding tintinnabulation.

Cecilia turned towards her wake as she heard exclamations of greeting and annoyance at being kept waiting emanated into the dining room and she heard Petunia hug her son goo-ily. She took another bite of her toast, anticipating the roar of greeting from Mr Dursley and the hastily approaching doom.

"…but mum!" Cecilia heard Dudley complain. "He's my _friend_! Daz! Tell mum! You _want_ to learn science!"

Cecilia took a few steps towards the door so as better to hear the conversation and she peered around the door. Not that it did much good; Mr Dursley's bulk was preventing Cecilia in her estimation of how much time she would have to herself before she had to give over her life for the rest of the day to an ungrateful and arrogant boy. If there was going to be two of them then she wanted to know as soon as possible.

A few moments later Cecilia saw, and heard, Dudley express his infuriation directed towards his mother as he hammered up the stairs and through the living room window she saw the Dursley's car speed off, presumably with Dudley's friend Daz in tow.

She put the envelope with her hypothesis contained within its papery walls onto the table and held onto it, as she finished off her tea. Presumably as soon as Mrs Dursley had cuckolded her son downstairs she – Cecilia – was to begin her teaching. She looked at the envelope. And then at the person who was lifting her hand away. Petunia Dursley beamed at her as she lifted the letter from under her palm.

"Your day of teaching is about to begin a lot earlier than we expected," said Petunia, leaning down and taking the letter from her. "What a lovely treat for you, _Mrs Frobisher_, hm, as well as my little Duddie-kins!" Leaning close to her ear she whispered, "I'll send it where I sent the last."

"And I am sure you'll be wanting another cup of tea before you begin," she continued as Dudley stalked into the living room, scowling at both his mother and Cecilia. Cecilia looked at Mrs Dursley, half expecting her to ignore her son's errant behaviour.

"Dudley! I am quite sure your father and I do not pay your school fees for you to be impolite to us, or to our guest. Apologise. Immediately."

Dudley Dursley turned sharply and an expression of defiance crossed his face. It then melted into one of model diligence and he got to his feet, bowing in Cecilia's direction, much to her astonishment.

"Please accept my apologies, Miss Wells – " he turned to his mother. "Mother," he nodded, before treading lightly towards Cecilia. "Miss Wells," he ventured, "are we studying chemistry today? Or biology? Only – "

"Sit down, Dudley," instructed Mrs Dursley from the kitchen. "I am about to go out and post a few things. You are to sit and learn everything Miss Wells is teaching you without any sillyness. I'll be asking Miss Wells, and if there has been – " Cecilia watched in awe as she gave her son a "don't cross me" look before taking off her apron and heading into the hall.

That evening, when Cecilia was tucked up safely in bed, she realised it was the happiest she had felt during her isolation at Privet Drive. Whatever happened from then on, she reassured herself, Snape would have her notes on Harry's potion and now, those on lycanthropy. Whatever happened now, she had done her best.

With a slightly lighter heart Cecilia Frobisher melted into dreams.

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The conditions in the Room of Artefacts had been perfect. Tabitha hadn't needed to take Severus Snape to see it to explain to him exactly how the veil worked. She could have explained it all to him in her office and there was little to gain from him actually seeing it barring the reiteration of her story.

The conditions in the Room of Artefacts had been perfect. His mind had been far too focused on what he sought. The fact that the room allowed Tabitha's powers, meagre under ordinary conditions, to magnify exponentially was circumstantial.

Sitting at her desk in her office in the Ministry for Magic Tabitha Penwright recalled entering the room to lay the plotting charm in order to discover the whereabouts of Cecilia Frobisher. She recalled how she entered the room to check on it on the morning before the trial of Albus Dumbledore as the plotting charm did its work and how it had failed to locate Cecilia Frobisher and instead had located the rest of the irrelevant leads she had discovered. She recalled how she had returned to it almost a month ago and had spent almost an hour sitting in front of it, thinking, listening to it call, trying to fix a spell in her mind that would help her to unravel its deeper secrets. And then it had worked.

She had focused her energy on the spell finding the muggle and her location in the British Isles had fixed in her mind, just as it had done when she had discovered, though partially, her new location. Dolores Umbridge had been pleased though she had been less so when it had been reported that the wizard enemy number one had escaped with the aid of a wizard.

And this morning, as she had focused on the fuzzy whereabouts of Mrs Frobisher the Room had worked its magic, so to speak. The slightly less guarded mind of Severus Snape coupled with a magical environment that few wizards had the abilities to utilise had revealed…

A few minutes later Tabitha stepped away from the fireplace she watched the ghost of a floo message, coded for Dolores Umbridge, leave the hearth. What else could she do, other than let her boss know exactly where Cecilia Frobisher was? She had to admit that she was at the Ministry; Dolores would be able to find out anyway through the floo network. But that wouldn't matter now Umbridge knew where to find the muggle and that she was unbefuddled.

A chill stole over Tabitha Penwright as she contemplated where she must go next. Back to Hogwarts. At least she had a legitimate reason to be away from that wretched place.

Taking one last longing look at the door to the Room of Artefacts the Mysteriour Tabitha Penwright shouldered her beige, full-length cloak and left her office.

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A/N: Go on, do tell…what do you think?


	17. Fading Stars

'

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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It had been a long weekend. The final hours of the blessed relief from adolescents was making Severus Snape feel a little uneasy. He stared at the parchment again and then back to the slightly grubby A4 lined paper that had arrived in his possession three days ago.

He had it.

The three words above were not nearly as strong to describe the end result of the process that had taken place over the last year however Snape hadn't the will or desire to search for appropriate vocabulary. All that mattered was what happened next.

He sat back in the tall-backed black chair that had, legend had it, stood in the office even before the school was built, the back of his hand brushing its smooth surface.

No, Snape corrected himself, the process hadn't begun a year ago. The information that Cecilia Frobisher had discovered through her meticulous detective work when she had been at the school revealed that the desire to rediscover a connection, or establish a cause for the difference between muggles and wizards had been sought for millennia.

He glanced back at the paper, reaching for his left arm again. _Which wasn't causing him pain_. Snape rolled up his sleeve and in the impoverished light radiating from the tree of tallow candles he inspected his scar. Unlike the scar bestowed upon Harry Potter by Lord Voldermort his scar had been borne his own volition. Snape looked at its lines and contours, the shape of the head and body with its helical tail etched forever into his flesh.

His eyes strayed from his mutilated limb and rested on the two vials of potion that stood next to the documents. This time it was right.

It would have been right, of course, had he continued with the work in February and not decided to protect the boy. He had not banked on Cecilia Frobisher's wilfulness.

In fact, Severus Snape told himself, there had been a lot of things concerning Mrs Frobisher that he had not banked on even he, who considered all things coldly.

Snape's mind scrolled to the future and fixed on his now-ex-research partner. Taking the polyjuice potion to become him had been highly risky and foolish but he was familiar with the motivation. By now the adverse effects, even with his highly risky and foolish cure, were enough to cause her internal damage. Being away from Lupin had its advantages in that further foolish acts could now be avoided. He looked back at the third document, a crumpled paper again which he had rescued long ago from the hearth in the teachers' room three doors down from him that the previous occupant had attempted to burn in a fit of anger. She hadn't succeeded and Snape was glad of it. Even without her presence at Hogwarts Mrs Frobisher's power was still being felt.

"It is likely that wizards chose to isolate themselves from muggles not as much for their own superiority but for the protection of muggles." That had been the sentence that had made Severus Snape interrogate Minerva McGonagall the previous evening. The witch had agreed to assist but clearly had no idea of the extent that she was letting herself in for however Snape was not going to let the potion suffer for his lack of care and attention to detail and Minerva was an accomplished anthropologist, at least when it came to wizards. He supposed that was what made her good with children.

He read the sentence again and then recalled his own conclusion. Unalloyed magic would affect them, he had proposed. McGonagall had looked sceptical, but offered advice and had engaged Snape in a discourse in the changes in the ministry during the 1930s. Had it not been for Bertram Falkwright, who had been more liberal towards muggles than the culture since the eighteenth century edicts, then wizards would not have protested their fear that they would lose their way of life. Had not Phineas Nigellus's death come about who had, Minerva had reminded Snape, treated muggles appallingly and instructed others to do the same then it would not have been on the consciences of the pro-muggle wizard in Diagonalley. Put like that, Snape conceded privately, the world of wizards could be conceived of as interesting.

They discussed Reciprocation and Minerva concluded that Raymond Lully's lack of caution in recruiting others had led to Oswald Avery's involvement, who had once worked in the Department of Mysteries. Snape had been impressed, though he realised now that he shouldn't have been. Minerva McGonagall's character had long been known to him and beneath her austerity he knew that she was as perceptive and intelligent as she was sharp.

Taking this on board he had taken the discussion further by commenting that those days had been the ones in which anyone declared misborn had been considered fair game for any wizard to kill. Minerva had agreed and told him to trust the judgment of his actions.

That was all very well for the McGonagall to say, thought Snape as he traced the leaded decoration on the small window and noted the shafts of elderly sunlight that had dared to invade his stone walled office, but she was alone. She could not help or reassure him that the potion was scientifically correct. He could not help her either. But he still needed information…information that he knew Cecilia would both unravel and yield.

A personalised potion.

It had been said that it couldn't be done but then whoever had said that clearly had no understanding of science. He looked at the parchment again where he had committed the base and match.

"The Universal Link," he had written, "is bounded by factors including age, physical traits and even emotions. Changes can occur in addition to heritable factors such as time spent in a magical environment or by choice."

Out of the drawer he took the bundle of papers, some burned, some crumpled, some liberated from a fire just in time and, of course, the notebooks that he had seized when he had taken Mrs Frobisher to safety. Staring at the pile Snape considered everything she had done. Of could he have done it without her but not in the time. Something had to be delayed so that he had chance to finish it and Dumbledore had made sure of that.

And then there was the other potion, the one which involved far more of a leap of faith and recalled…person who had given him the letters that were helping her help him…it had been for her safety that he had agreed to do it…now the person who shone brightest in his life had the information to help her have a purpose for the…thing …and the thing…he would see to it that it would not harm her again...

Now all that he needed to do was –

"Severus."

Out of courtesy Dumbledore knocked on the inner office door of the Potions classroom. Severus Snape turned as the headmaster glided across to the desk.

"You have the potion I see? It is all completed?"

Snape neither nodded nor shook his head. Instead he handed the match potion to Dumbledore.

"I cannot understand exactly what is needed. In terms of magic I am entirely certain that it will have the desired effects when Potter takes it. Indeed, it is the science that I am mostly concerned about."

"Hm." Dumbledore put down the match and picked up the base. "You are saying then that magically, were Harry Potter to take them he would become bereft of his magical ability? Ah, that is indeed magical, Severus," he concluded, looking contentedly at Snape's face. When his teacher of potions did not reply Dumbledore replaced the vial in his hand where it had stood minutes before and sat on the twin chair on which Snape was sitting.

"Clearly you feel the science is important, and that it needs due consideration before our plot to lure Voldermort comes into play?" He glanced at the table again where Snape had unrolled what looked to be like a black velvet jewellery roll with padding in between narrow sections. And, in between each of the folds there were –

"The strands of hair that you see here have come from extraordinary wizards. You are familiar with the notion, the amendment that Mrs Frobisher saw fit to consider, of the nature of magic?" Dumbledore nodded.

"These strands come from wizards and witches whose magical ability is dubious or at least very unusual. It would be foolish if we did not allow time for these to be considered." He stopped. Dumbledore glanced over the velvet with interest. Then he looked back at Snape.

"We also need further time if we are to come to a conclusion about the wolfsbane potion. I am certain that, from Miss Evans's meticulous notes that she will work loose the problem. I left her with little else."

"And your motives for this? How far do they extend to your feelings for Mrs Frobisher?"

"I trust that you do not think that emotion has prompted me to act or give advice in a manner that does not put our cause paramount?" Snape got to his feet and walked towards the stone shelves and stopped just in front of them. He turned.

"I do not deny that I care for Mrs Frobisher's welfare. To leave her in the care of Fletcher and…another _muggle_…" He looked at the envelope in which the letter that had arrived for him that lay innocently on the desk upon which his name had been written in familiar handwriting above that of Dumbledore's. He tore his mind away from a time long ago and looked at the aforementioned-addressee.

"Even in a non-magical environment it is unlikely that she will ever recover fully from her exposure to the high concentration of magic that we have here. Her health might, if she is fortunate, merely remain poor however, any future relationship with wizard, especially one with such a debilitation himself…I gave her due warning and she should be by now fully aware of the implications of reproducing with one such as Lupin – " Dumbledore nodded his head and held up a hand.

"You realise of course that the path that they choose is entirely their own; that you cannot – you _must not_ interfere with its course. Whatever the ministry might believe a betrothal still has power in our world." Snape said nothing, and did not move.

"You are clear, Severus?"

"Indeed." The word reverberated around the stone-walled office and hung in the air for a second. Then he looked at Dumbledore.

"What do you hope to gain from the scientific work? What do you hope your results to yield?"

"I expect, although I was not alone in my supposition, that those who are partially magical, Miss Penwright for example, Ted Tonks, may have a connection to other wizards and that those who can change their appearance at will…metamorphomagi for example. Lupin's sample is yet to be analysed and we have a further sample for Mrs Dursley – " Snape got up to his feet and began to inspect the potion vials again, " – and one for her son. Whatever the genetics for these wizards the results will directly affect the hypothesis of the Link. It is only right that I investigate it for the potion." He looked at Dumbledore and watched him wiggle his mouth, which caused his beard to wobble.

"And how goes the infiltration of the enemy's defences?"

"The rumour that any of the Dark Lord's followers have a chance of redemption has been kept in circulation since the Great Battle. When I ascertain who is willing to turn against him I will administer the potion myself. Their bargain is that they will turn information in to the Ministry; that their link to the Dark Lord can be severed…there are many who will take the opportunity…"

"I see." Dumbledore nodded and rose himself. "In that case, please continue with your vital work, Severus, with each and every facet."

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Darren Malloy was getting annoyed. His third week at Smeltings was about to begin and he had nothing. Nothing of value to show for his time there.

In the safety of the preparatory room, something akin to the Slytherin common room and just as welcoming, Draco banged his fist on the wall, causing a canvas-backed picture of the founder of the school to bang back and forth in retaliation. He glared at the inanimate muggle who would not, as he had discovered, spring to life like wizard portraits (something that had caused him to be inconvenienced in his seeking of relevant, useful, scientific information by Mr. McFarlane, his house master to discuss "how he was settling in".)

In fact, Darren Malloy was settling in to Smeltings remarkably well. There had been times, glints of occasions in the last week, where he had almost forgotten that he was a wizard, most significantly for whole afternoon where he and Dudley had spent the entire afternoon skiving a particularly boring Geography lesson and had retired in the sun to plan an intricate attack on the Stone-heads, including Azzer, who had recovered from Draco's last encounter with him in the park and was now spoiling for a punch-up.

Draco gritted his teeth menacingly as he thought of the hard-man of Stonewall and his thoughts turned to Dudley and the opportunity that had so nearly come his way. He clenched his fists as he recalled Mr Dursley driving him back to school and mistaking Draco's silent seething for nervousness. He had engaged Draco in a serious discussion about career prospects about which Darren Malloy had talked about it comfortably and it occurred to Draco that perhaps there were some aspects of the muggle world that he had been able to adapt and cope with. Perhaps this place had a power of its own.

Staring at the portrait over the fireplace again he turned his thoughts to his quest. Apart from science lessons, being taught how materials behaved, what forces affected what and human biology in all its glorious detail, the subject where he focused the most of his energies, little else was of much use and despite his eagerness to assist his father he was becoming inclined to agree with his mother that, "if it took centuries and one fortuitously placed muggle a year to discover this wretched stuff then it's not going to be much use our son going out there…!"

But he had, and he was here and hope was fading fast. And not just his. The image of this omnipotent power which both terrified and held wizards enraptured was slowly disappearing. He knew that Voldermort's followers were failing him, giving up hope and now and worse still, the Dark Lord knew it too. In his mind Draco had envisaged holding the key, being gloriously welcomed into the inner sanctum of Death Eaters, his name ringing with triumph rather than whispered in shame. Now, having spent so much time with the muggles he had nothing to show for it…

…Damnation!

He needed it to work…he had painted himself into a corner with very little negotiation power, other than trust that something would turn up. And, though he was loathe to admit it, what was scaring Draco Malfoy the most was how well he was fitting in with Dudley and company.

Draco continued to pace around the prep room, on centuries-looking decade-old carpet and, when his legs could stand it no more he took to the nearest chair and threw himself in it, sighing in annoyed frustration as he reached for his exercise book and reading through the notes he had made from his last weeks' lessons.

Malfoy hated it. There was no real discovery in the lessons taught; so far it had consisted of merely reproducing experiments that muggle people did years ago. Nothing was new in their learning, nothing to find out. He had brought the matter to the attention of Mr. Smith the science teacher who had been taken so taken aback at the notion that he Darren had been obliged to wait for his answer an hour into his ownfree time for the answer.

Draco shook his head and read his hand written notes. So many things were so different to Hogwarts, yet, some things the same. He doubted whether Hogwarts teachers would be able to manage with what Smelting teachers had to do, even though the basic job was the same.

Opening his book again Draco read a few sentences about the basic structure and function of a cell before throwing the exercise book onto the floor. The work was so dumb! And not just science. McFarlane had quickly established that he was considerably behind in many of his subjects and had given him remedial work in order to help him catch up.

Kicking the book as he got to his feet Draco resumed his solitary marching. At least _they_ had showed him some chemical reactions which all to do with energy, Dudley had said proudly. He couldn't begin to call them friends…but…associates in a common cause? They too seemed on a mission to oppose muggles by their very manners and actions. It was this that had caused Draco to ponder a point, something none of the other Death Eaters, his father included, had considered. It was something that had been literally very close to Draco's heart when Dudley had demonstrated to them all the pressure gun that apparently his science tutor had allowed him to no only build but test on the local park.

A part of Draco began to swell, part with envy, another with pride and he rolled the thought around in his mind. His naivety in the previous days' ballistics had given him an idea. What if they were using muggle weapons, like guns…bombs etc; he had had no thought for his own safety. What if the enemy knew this too and designed an attack on the Dark Lord. What if…?

Hastily sitting down, and adding a mental note to wangle an invitation to Dudley's house when the moment ago, Draco began to think…

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In the darkened living room in his grandmother's cottage she felt closer to him. They all felt closer to him. Crouched on the carpet he looked around him, at his belongings, those of his family and of Cecilia. All exhibits now in an Auror investigation. All to be taken away to the Ministry and used as evidence. There was little that Remus could do: he had been barred from using magic otherwise he would have disapparated the lot to Grimmauld Place.

His friend had been so generous to him by allowing him to stay there even when he had lost his temper and had gone for Snape. Sirius said he didn't care about that and that the destruction of his bedroom had made an improvement on the place. He had smiled at his friend, but knew deep down that his presence was becoming wearing on his friend: even through his imperfect eyes Remus could see Sirius becoming exhausted and withdrawn as the days had gone by. He closed his eyes and then opened them again.

What did they want with all of these things? He inched his way across the carpet and to the effects that had been in the cellar: his grandmother's clippings from the Daily Prophet; his father's book binding materials. The china tea set that his mother had bought on a whim when he was very young when they were on holiday in Devon. Here, with the material possessions belonging to his family Remus felt a strange affinity to his family and he recalled a happier time when his father had recounted tales of his trade, telling him about his friend Raymond Lully and his imported books which he bound and sold on to specialist bookshops. Flourish and Blotts had been one of his biggest customers.

What did they want with her things? Few remained now; it rankled with Remus that the Ministry Aurors who had arrived on the day that she absconded had taken most of what remained as if it was necessary to take something. But there was nothing he could do about it.

A lone teardrop rolled down his left cheek as he looked at a pile of clothes that belonged to Cecilia which were clearly part of the evidence too and he sank to his knees, reaching for a tablecloth and feeling thoroughly miserable. It was one of his mothers, nothing elaborate, just linen embroidered with large yellow daisies in a kind of loopy stitch that he remembered his mother sewing on anything she made for a time and his eyes wandered to the Daily Prophets. He remembered once, about a month ago, when he had seen Cecilia reading through some of these things. He hadn't minded; one day they would be her family things too.

His mind then leaned to thoughts of Tonks and upon his already wretched feelings guilt began to press hard. Remus had dreamed about Tonks…and a child…that was one of the reasons he had felt it necessary to return to his home…even when he knew he shouldn't be there.

Remus stared out of the window at the forget-me-not coloured sky before dropping his head and staring at his trousers. What he was wearing was all he had; the Ministry had seen fit to claim all of his belongings too, his clothes included.

The letter informing Remus of this information had arrived via a very confused owl that morning and it had been retrieved by Molly Weasley. Once he had read it he had felt compelled to return to his home. He reached up to his neck and felt for the chain and pendant that graced his neck, slender and slim, at least he had something. It belonged to Cecilia Frobisher and he had not removed it since the evening he had taken it, the night two days after Christmas when Sirius had convinced him that she would not understand. Cecilia had assumed she had lost it when her home was destroyed but Remus had planned to give it to her as a wedding gift when they eventually got married.

He shouldn't be back here, he knew, not since she had been taken…_discovered by the Ministry_. Despite the ban on spells he had put some on the place as best he could for security, but they had broken Dumbledore's spells…how long before they found him? And besides, he was unlikely to be that welcome at Grimmauld Place at the moment, after the arguments he had had with both Mrs Weasley and Sirius. Remus clenched his fists. No-one, not even his best friend, seemed to realise what it felt like to lose her. Picking up her navy cardigan he began to cry.

He had lived with the wolves…that had been where he was when Dumbledore found him and saved him. He had heard that werewolves who opt to stay as wolves consciously without the lunar influence would eventually forget they had ever been humans and remain as wolves for the rest of their dog days. If he had not been persuaded by the wizard to become a teacher at his old school, then this wouldn't have happened.

Remus looked round his house. Not his house. It was forfeit. Everything belonged to the Ministry. Everything. They even wanted to own Ce…his Ce…Clutching the cardigan tighter he wept.

After a time thoughts other than all-consuming self-pity permeated his mind. He remembered Sirius sitting with him when he took him back to the cottage after transforming into a werewolf without his potion…he had neglected to take it and so his friend taken him back there and stopped with him until he became human again…this was the last place he wanted to be, but it was safe. That was the wretched point: it was safe, both for him and for others. He had woken up by the fire again and Sirius had left soon after and for a long time he'd lain there watching the cumulonimbus clouds hug the high mountains on the horizon, their contents threatening to spill over the crests, dampening their crowns like a wrung dishcloth and he probably would have remained there still if an owl carrying a blue-ribboned letter hadn't attracted his attention to the window in the kitchen.

They now wanted to speak to him about his actions. The official line read, "…assisting with valuable Ministry information…" but Remus knew what it was he was required to do…and what it might lead to if his answers were not what the Interrogators wanted. It wasn't as if he hadn't known apparition was forbidden under the werewolf code but he had been doing it so often back and forth between the cottage and the Forbidden Forest, the cottage and Grimmauld Place, the cottage and Hogwarts, that he hadn't given it a second thought…

…Remus thought back to the first time he apparated there illicitly, the last time Sirius had come back with him…just before Sirius had been wrongfully imprisoned…Remus remembered his own mother chiding Sirius most heartily for encouraging him to break the code…but his friend had charmed her round in the end proclaiming that, in the 1980s, the Ministry gave some latitude and complementing her on her unique decorative taste…

…looking around at the well-dated furniture Remus laughed at the irony…at the time most of these things _were_ new and had been stylish, if a little old in taste. His eyes rested on the left-hand side of the settee next to the half-panelled wall, where he was so accustomed to seeing Cecilia and he tried to remember the last time she was sitting here, what she was talking about, what they were doing…

…but whatever it was, or what was said, he couldn't…

A shudder of distress passed through his body as Remus's longing for his mate became physical…he ached for her presence there…his heart thumped behind his ribs as his frustration…his breath became quicker and more impatient as he thought about her beautiful smile…

With an outstretched palm he blasted an old yellowing oil painting from the wall in frustrated aggravation before resuming his coiled position in front of the fire, where he had been that morning and in which he now sought comfort. The rug on which he was lying was still adorned with his wolf-hair and Remus sobbed, not caring how pathetic and wretched he would seem someone were to see him now.

…his thoughts drifted towards her…his Cecilia…why did she agree to go? Why had it been Snape who had taken her? Why did no-one fight the ministry? Why would no-one tell her where she was…?

Remus did not know how long he lay there, tears eventually stemming and evaporating, leaving salinous deposits on his skin as he turned his anger on himself and he imagined himself telling Cecilia the truth about his lycanthropy. Not just that he was a werewolf…

…yes. He could imagine telling her, her beautiful face waiting with anticipation as he tried his best to stutter and stammer through it. How her face would then change to worried incomprehension for a moment as she took in the more horrific, shocking and dreadful details; about the grotesque changes in his body…what it made him feel like…the taste in his mouth…how he had to focus when he was around people in order for him to be able to distinguish between friend and food until eventually there was no distinction to be made…the raw instinct unbounded by custom and respectability, making every feeling a hunger, making every hunger a visceral craving…

…the carpet was still the same as when his parents had died all those long years ago: brown, orange and mustard yellow concentric circles. The same as when he had come there to his grandmother's house…the same as when he had overheard his parents talking about Caelius.

He shouldn't have been listening and at the time he had felt both a little happy that he wasn't alone and sad at his death but the gravity of the situation had borne down on him and become weighty as the years had passed…he wasn't the sole target of a nightly terror but the same attack he had endured had killed his brother…

…in another lifetime the carpet had worn threadbare in places where his father had paced monthly, worrying over his – Remus's – absence from the house and awaiting his return to his family home…whence Remus had returned following the rise of Voldermort, coming home to hide after he had been informed hurriedly and patchily that Sirius had murdered his friends…the friends he had saw so brutally adorning their bedroom…

…the living room had eventually become a prison where he had sat and gazed through that very window where the cumulonimbus had begun to accumulate and the darkness under the clouds radiated charcoal-grey. He had stared at clouds like these for days on end thinking about his life long past and wanting with every fibre of his being to believe it wasn't true…knowing that if he dared show his face in civilised society he would be in Azkaban with the murderer Sirius Black…

And then, after almost a decade the lycanthropy laws had been relaxed upon the development and synthesis of a potion that tempered the effects of the lycanthropy…how Dumbledore had visited him when he was at his lowest: family money spent and no hope to earn any, how he had arrived with fresh hope and a vial of potion modified especially for him by Snape. How within weeks he had been able to live a freer life with a Dumbledore-directed purpose.

He stared back into the hearth and, sighing heavily, he considered what the effects would be if he had told her the truth…Dumbledore had advised him to tell her at Christmas when he had spent the most fantastic night of his life with her…or rather, he had advised to keep no secrets from those closest to him…but how could have even contemplated telling her, his Cecilia, when just thinking these thoughts about his own disgusting nature were so deeply repulsive to even himself? Having to burden her with it would be just too heartbreaking. Remus Lupin could feel his heart beating even quicker now as his thoughts raced around his medullar lobe…

…yes, he could have told her and been honest, allowed her to come with him as she had boldly requested when he was a mere wolf, uncrazed…shared with her the agony of the lunacy, on the night of an eclipse rather than playing it safe by confiding in Sirius…

…and yet what could be worse than Cecilia F… no. Remus halted his thoughts sharply…she wasn't Frobisher…turned his head towards the fireplace bit his tongue hard. She was _NOT_ Cecilia Frobisher…he looked so sternly at the blackened bricks, oxidised by the combustion of floo powder and fuel, within the hearth that it was a wonder he didn't metamorphose them…she _was _of course, he sighed in defeat; they should be married by now and she should be Cecilia _Lupin_…but knowing that she would soon lose her surname, to be replaced by his, however antiquated that notion seemed in the modern day…that had kept him going…stopped his inadequacies manifesting themselves…keeping them penned in and dammed up…

…and now that she was gone his mind was darkening as the raincloud that was nearing, engulfing the valley that sat in its window-frame, enshrouding it in shadow…

Remus howled…

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"Look, we'll tell Harry together," he heard Ron say. No prizes for guessing who he was visiting at this hour of the night and he scuttled to the underneath of the stairs as a pair of figures left the girls' dormitory and went into the boys'. So that'll be Hermione's genius doing then, thought Harry as he watched the door to the dorm close and anger began to well in his stomach. Just what were they going to tell him? That they were going out? That they were married? That Ron had just been chosen for the all-England Quidditch championships in Salford? Balling up his fists inside his pockets Harry emerged from the shadows and headed downstairs towards the Gryffindor common room, invisibility cloak in absentia.

He couldn't sleep. That was his excuse for being up at three in the morning on a school night. As usual there were things on his mind: Voldermort; the potion; Pallid Penwright; what the potion was going to contain this time; Snape; the absence of Mrs Frobisher; where and what the Order's plans were. Opening the door to the back of the Fat Lady Harry slid the portrait across stepping out onto the corridor and he began to pace agitatedly in a random direction.

And he was angry. Angry with Ron in any case…angry with them both. He was angry because he couldn't remember the last time he had been able to say anything to Ron without his best friend's response being, "I'll ask Hermione", or without him saying halfway through something, "look mate, you understand, don't you?" He was angry that his friend had been taken away from him when he wanted to speak to him. And more especially he was angry for them being together.

Harry stopped when he realised his furious walking had taken him to McGonagall's ground floor office and he sighed in defeat. The times he and Ron had been there at this hour; clearly his mind was still in best friend mode even if his best friend wasn't. Sighing again he opened the door and crept in, closing it behind him. Moments later and a green floo connection had been made between himself and his godfather. Sirius looked as he always did, confident and sympathetic to Harry's woes but he wore an expression that Harry had not seen before, one of sadness or tiredness, like an inevitability that would soon come to pass and which he could do nothing about.

"So, how are you, Harry?" Asked Sirius, his face crackling in the fireplace. "How is it all going there at the moment? Good, I trust?" Despite himself, Harry nodded and shuffled closer to the hearth. "And how is your work with your muggle studies teacher? Well?" Again Harry nodded but this time said nothing. He couldn't answer, not express everything he wanted to say but he also knew that Sirius Black was perceptive enough to see through his attempted indifference.

"Your work with Tabitha Penwright from the Ministry is going well?" Sirius repeated and Harry nodded again.

"So-so," he confirmed. "Wish it was Mrs Frobisher, though." He watched Sirius nod and this time it was his godfather's turn to inject an awkward silence into their conversation. Harry wanted to know what the matter was and had to glance at the ceramic tiles in the fireplace to prevent himself from asking Sirius what he wanted to.

"You realise he is attempting to allay the Ministry, and your Muggle Studies teacher, through subterfuge?" Harry nodded. "Then just keep it up," continued Sirius, "make a good job of it." He smiled, and then laughed a little. "Trust what Snape is telling you; after he saved Mrs Frobisher's life and so forth he deserves it. True, after he had a hand in her disappearance, I had my doubts – " Sirius broke off, staring at his godson intently. From his godfather's reaction Harry realised that his shock must have been showing on his face.

"What?!" Harry's exclamation reverberated around McGonagall's classroom and he became rigid, waiting for the echo to die away. Sirius appeared to be waiting too, his expression now one of guilt.

"You're saying that Snape stole Mrs Frobisher away from Lupin?"

"He got her out of there just in time, just as the Ministry got in there. By all accounts had he not done so Percy Weasley would have received the glory for capturing the most wanted muggle of all time…" His voice was low and steady. And cautious.

"So where – " But Sirius cut him off.

"He was the secret keeper for Cecilia Frobisher; he cannot tell anyone, not even Remus where she is. But, _you_ should trust him. He's used information that Mrs Frobisher gave to him before she disappeared to refine your potion. And I shouldn't have told you, so do not let anyone else know." Harry looked away again, trying to take it all in.

"Harry?" He looked back to the fireplace and back to his godfather.

"Why do _you_ trust him, Sirius?"

"He saved her life, he saved yours…he's on our side, more's the pity…"

"But…he killed my parents – "

"Voldermort did that."

"He let Wormtail know," retorted Harry defiantly. Sirius sighed.

"Look, life's not split into good and evil people; we all have a bit of each in us, some things we are proud of and others of which we're ashamed. Harry, there's something I never told you, and perhaps I should…"

And Sirius proceeded to tell Harry how he had apologised to Snape about Henrietta and what he had done to him when they had been at school. He told Harry about his tormenting Snape, and that the wizard had little choice but to join the DFs.

"But you weren't to know," replied Harry loyally. "How did you know that he was going to become a Death Eater?"

"Trust me," said Sirius, "I wasn't too nice a person at school. But I do know he is sorry for his involvement in your parents' death. I told you about Henrietta Edwards. We went out. But things were never truly right between us. I suppose that's why she chose the muggle world." Sirius paused. "It's not just the lack of Mrs Frobisher making this potion that's made you feel like this," he added. Harry shook his head and began to return the confidence that his godfather had shared with him and told him about Ron and Hermione, and how things had changed between him and his best friend. Sirius smiled sympathetically.

"Just like me and your dad. Things changed when he began to go out with your mum. But we still were best friends. I just had to accept that I had to share him." Harry nodded, but without much conviction. He didn't want to share Ron, as selfish as that seemed, all he wanted was their friendship to go back to the way it was. What Sirius was saying made sense, both about Ron and about Snape. Then a thought struck him, something that had been bothering him for some time. Something that he had wanted to discuss with Ron for almost a week which he couldn't share with his godfather.

"Harry?" He realised he must have been thinking hard when Sirius's voice alerted him to the here and now and the intimacy of the scene faded.

"Have you ever experienced thoughts about things that haven't happened?"

"Pardon?"

"Memories…thoughts," he clarified carefully. "Have you ever been witness to something that you know certain things happened and when you come across it again, the events are different?"

"Like a memory slide, you mean?"

"What?"

"A memory slide," repeated Sirius. "If you've come across one of those…" He broke off and the green flames shuddered. Harry shifted his weight from one knee to another and waited for his godfather to continue.

"What's a memory slide?" Harry asked when it was clear Sirius wasn't going to elaborate. "Is it dangerous?" Sirius shook his flaming head.

"It's a phenomenon not uncommon to memories. If a memory has been changed by the contributor, that is to say, the original thinker of the thought, then it is likely to be different to what you remember. It is used by mystery-solvers." Harry nodded. That made sense. "If you experienced it with your muggle studies teacher then – "

" – Snape," interrupted Harry as he recalled the scene again. So he wasn't imagining things; the memory in which Cecilia Frobisher was not only not asleep but was actually responding to the wizard's advances that he had had inadvertently stumbled across had been changed from the events he and Ron had witnessed...by Snape…"

"Snape? Is this what the problem is?" Harry looked sharply at Sirius who was shaking his head. "Look, whatever you've seen in Snape's mind I would forget about it. He wants to make sure the potion is safe for you, Harry and I suggest that if you are working with him or your Muggle Studies teacher then keep your wits about you. Mysteriours have been known to induce other things, some rather more serious than memory slides. So," Sirius continued, changing the subject, "how are you? Apart from getting your head round Hermione and Ron?" Harry shrugged. "She seemed agitated about things."

"You spoke to Hermione?" Harry stared at Sirius, confused. "When? Why?"

"I thought it was you," conceded Sirius, shaking his head slowly. "She seemed concerned about something; she told me she had been learning science from Mrs Frobisher." Hermione had spoken to Sirius? Harry looked at the tiles in the back of the hearth.

"Look Harry," he said suddenly. "I've got to go. The floo is probably being watched and I am needed elsewhere." His godson stared at him in silence. "Trust in Severus Snape, Harry. He has your best interests at heart, of that I am convinced." Harry nodded. But something didn't quite ring true…somehow he was not entirely won over by his reassurances.

"Sirius, what do I do? What if this potion's not ready for when I need it?" He watched Sirius's face change slowly from concern to admonishment

"Harry, you've got to start making your own choices…you're nearly of age…"

"And what does that mean?"

"Believe in yourself…put your heart and soul behind what you are trying to achieve." Harry frowned and lean backwards. At any other time he would feel proud his godfather was saying that to him…he was, but…

Harry made his way to the Owlery. These days it was the only place he could think. The early hours of this June morning were cold and fresh and his cheeks and hands were stinging as he climbed the spiral staircase and into the post room now absent of many of its daytime occupants. One or two of those who were not on a nightly hunt glared at him accusingly and fluttered their wings. Ignoring them, Harry sat on the stone wall before the rows of letterholes and rested his arms on his jeans and his chin on his hands.

What was it about Sirius? There was something not quite right about it all. After a chat with his godfather Harry usually felt at ease with the future no matter what it held. Today he felt worse…Sirius had never told him to trust his own decisions before and it had irked him not a little that he had apparently been free to offer advice to Hermione! And what cause did she have to speak to Sirius? Harry frowned. Sirius had explained away his fears adequately, but when it had come for reassurances not only had Sirius proffered none he had left Harry with no hope that he ever would.

But, he supposed, sighing deeply, he _would _have to come up with something himself then and not depend on the untrustworthy adults around him. Closing his eyes Harry thought about Sirius again and his own reaction to his godfather's abdication of emotional support. Perhaps it was hard for him to speak to Harry like that. Perhaps he was giving him room to, well: make his own decisions.

Giving his Sirius the benefit of the doubt Harry's thoughts turned to the future. He looked across to the glassless window as a tawny and brown owl landed on the sill. He was going to have to face Voldermort, a greatly diminished but not defeated wizard…that was for sure but as for when he could not tell. He would need to prepare so there were only a few pieces of advice that were necessary to consider, both of which would equip Harry with skills and knowledge. He got to his feet and stretched. Somehow, thinking about things like that made him feel strangely at ease.

He walked towards the window in the Owlery and looked down at the darkened surroundings and at the sky, where a line of dawnlight underlined the indigo sky and he thought back to a conversation that he had had with Sirius almost a month ago, when he had been at Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Voldermort was very much damaged by the spell he had used more than sixteen years ago and now, through the potion made by Snape with Cecilia Frobisher's help he was almost defeated in February.

"If he regains his soul, he may be able to defeat you and rise to even greater power." Harry paced round the Owlery and voiced a reply.

"I don't think so. I think he hid something, a part of himself somewhere safe because he knew that he couldn't die without it." More owls, who had returned from late night hunting, looked at Harry reproachfully. He ignored them and walked past the doorway to outside and resumed his contemplation. That had been Harry's suggestion. It was only now that he realised that Sirius had neither confirmed nor denied it. Perhaps Sirius was actually giving him assistance and guidance after all.

So, thought Harry as he sat back on the small wall in the centre of the Owlery, reuniting Voldermort with his soul means that I can defeat him once and for all, but that was all very well. Where was his soul? And how exactly was he supposed to do that? He racked his mind for some ideas, but wished he hadn't…it wouldn't settle on something for long, rather the images flashed by quickly and confusingly…his friends disappearing off together…Mrs Frobisher's absence…the presence of the people from the Ministry…Snape and _that_ memory…

Harry closed his eyes and fixed on what he had decided to pursue that would help him prepare for what was to come. Whatever that was.

Whatever the future held, Harry thought gloomily, his own may be grim indeed.

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The man looked up from the light box in the darkened room and rubbed his chin. It had been a long evening. He looked at the clock on the wall – the rest of his employees had already departed, having mined for information, gossip and fact since the early hours of the morning.

It was just like any other evening in the editorial suite and the editor was carrying out his usual duties. But there was something. Something not quite as it should be, but for the life of him he couldn't think what.

Disturbed, the editor of one of the major newspapers flicked the switch on the box where he had been scrutinising the proofs of the pages which would, in a few hours, be in the hands of millions of people across the country and in a few more hours be in recycling bins, roads, cat litter trays and perhaps even as protective packaging. Turning the dimmer switch off, he sat in the darkness and stared out of the window. Below, the lights of Wapping faded into the summer evening and he watched a stray dog bounding along the street below, on and off the pavement.

It wasn't the same as it had been. In his day the bustle of journalists racing up Fleet Street to their various offices with stop-press news stories would be at its peak at this time of day. Some of them really did stop the presses and work had to be hastily re-written to be current and up-to-date for the sales stands the next day. Now, the work was faxed in if it was important and little had to be done other than replace the stories with the new ones.

The trespassers, hidden behind the office door nudged one another. One of a pair of them gave his father the thumbs up and this was returned with a grin.

"Now all we have to do is get out of here," whispered Arthur Weasley as he peered through the glass window in the intervening door. "Three more and we'll be done, lads."

"She's bound to read one of them," said George, nudging his brother. Fred nodded in agreement.

"Do you think he'll notice?" George whispered to his father.

"Doubt it," replied Mr. Weasley. "He didn't even notice that I re-heated his coffee."

"Muggles!" said the twins in unison.

"Now," said Mr Weasley as he watched the editor return to his proofs box, scanning the back page that announced the football results, "all we need to do is get out of here." He watched his sons grin at one another. "Lads," he added. The twins looked at him. "Don't tell your mother."

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"Good evening!" The door to the terraced house in which Mr and Mrs Smith lived clicked on the latch and as Nick Smith entered their home he heard the voice of his wonderful wife through three doors.

"Good evening, Uncle Nick!" He smiled and opened the front room door. On the velour-covered settee sat Tonks and Freya, both reading books. His fostered daughter launched herself off the sofa and into Nick's arms, leaving the biochemist slightly bemused. He looked over the nine-year-old's shoulder at Tonks, who had put down her book and was smiling at him.

"Good day?" He asked of his wife as he kissed Freya on the cheek. She nodded.

"We played, drew and read, didn't we Freya?" The girl nodded as Tonks smiled at Nick and got to her feet. "Show Uncle Nick what we've done!" She didn't need to ask twice and the girl picked up a silver and black picture that she held aloft triumphantly.

"Aunty Tracy helped me with the glitter," said Freya happily. "And then we talked about the world, and the continents, and I learned the capital cities of all of the ones in Europe. And Aunty Tracy says that I'll be going to school soon!" Nick shot Tonks a look, and she returned it with one of her own, slightly forlorn and guilty.

"Freya darling," said Tonks as the girl sat down on the settee again. "Uncle Nick and I have some things to talk about. I cooked some dinner for us, do you think you'd be good enough to go upstairs and wash your hands, and then come and lay the table?" Freya looked quickly between Tonks and Nick, then nodded obediently.

Once the door closed Tonks sat back down and Nick sat next to her. Kissing her on the cheek he turned the book's cover over and looked at the title.

""The Witch's Guide to Childcare"?" asked Nick chidingly. "You don't need this Tonks, you're doing a great job as it is!"

"So says you, a bachelor a month ago," she replied, tapping him on the arm reproachfully. "I mean, I don't know how to look after a child! Mum was little help, she knows how to bring up wizard children and I can hardly use magic here, especially as she's a muggle." She stopped as Nick laid a hand on hers.

"You're a natural with children." Nick kissed her on the cheek again. "I mean, after what she's been through…and she's accepted her move here. She remembers me…"

"She asked for her mum today," said Tonks, a solemn look on her face as the colour drained out of her short, spiky hair. "I think she meant Cecilia's sister. I asked her what she remembered about living in Scotland and she said that she remembered a fire, and that she was here while they found somewhere new to live. I went along with that."

"Good," said Nick, turning on the settee to face her. "I'm not sure about her starting school, though. It'll nearly be the end of the school year, and they'll have more time to ask questions. Far better to wait – "

"Why? To see what happens, you mean?" Nick shook his head.

"If she is to be permanently with us I can arrange for proper documentation. Questions will be asked, but I'm sure you can sort that out." Tonks nodded firmly.

"Did you look at the traces today?" she asked, "the ones for Father? I know it's an ask, but I also know how much Snape needs these for the potion." Tonks exhaled deeply as she saw Nick nod and from his briefcase he pulled them back out. Holding them out in front of him he pointed to some of the lines and looked between the document and Tonks, trying to find the right words to explain what it all meant. Tonks shook her head.

"You don't need to tell me the specifics, but from the information, does it show anything _unusual_?"

"Hm, it does rather," replied Nick and he shuffled closer to Tonks. "You said that your father was a wizard at school, and he was muggle born." She nodded. "And then, for some reason his powers started to fade until he was left with none."

"He didn't seem too worried about it, and neither was her mother. But I've always wondered why no-one thought to ask – " Tonks broke off as a pair of hasty feet hammered down the stairs, along the hall and into the kitchen. They heard the kitchen drawer be pulled open and cutlery landing on the wooden surface.

"She is adorable," said Nick, looking at Tonks. "I'm so glad you didn't give her up." He reached up and stroked her face.

"One day she'll have a brother or sister," said Tonks. "And we'll be like a normal family." She waited until Nick nodded too and they both smiled. "Now, what can you say about these?"

"I'll have to look into these a bit more," conceded Nick, "but from what I can see, from the hair that you gave me of your father's from when he was thirteen and the other from last week…" He pointed to the bands on the one trace before holding them both up to the light.

"They match identically, except for an extra line, here." He pointed on one of the traces and Tonks nodded. It was clear that there was something extra there. "The trace with this on was from your father's thirteen year old self. It is absent in the one that you took from him last week."

"So what are you saying?"

"That something definitely changed in your father's DNA between the time he was thirteen and now. We can only conclude that it was his inability to do magic." Tonks nodded and pulled the trace closer to her again, looking at the black stripes on the white printer paper.

"I will look into this further," said Nick, getting to his feet. "At least I'm a biologist; I'll tell you again Cecilia Frobisher, if you had come to me with this it would have taken days not months – "

"She wasn't allowed to," said Tonks stating the obvious as the door opened swiftly with a nine-year old attached to the handle.

"We're coming, Freya," said Nick and the girl darted off back into the kitchen. "I know that, Tracy," he added, smiling and took her by the hand, closing the door and opening another.

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A/N: Your thoughts, please!


	18. The Continuum of Wizards

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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Mrs Frobisher, why aren't you here? Why aren't you here at Hogwarts teaching Muggle Studies instead of Pasty Penwright? Why aren't you here at Hogwarts helping Professor Snape make Harry's potion? Why have you left us with such inquisitive minds that we now can't use, lest we get into trouble?

Why aren't you here at Hogwarts so I can talk to you?

Hermione was angry. The cause of this anger was a multitude of things: Umbridge speaking to her; the Security Laws; Ron; Harry; Sirius Black; her own impulsiveness to ask questions and give opinions. She knew that they weren't all Mrs Frobisher's fault, or that she could be held accountable for anything. Yet the anger she was feeling _seemed _like it was, and as such, with her defences lowered and with no-one else to speak to blaming Mrs Frobisher was good enough.

Hermione sighed and tried to focus her mind on the task in hand but it began to wander again as she contemplated what she could be held accountable for. Harry knowing more about science than she did, that was one; her and Ron going out. She ran her fingers through her hair and stared straight ahead. That should have been a happy thought but at the moment Hermione didn't seem to know what was going on. He had avoided her for the past few days, he had missed arranged times and had made excuses not to be with her. Hermione sighed again. If he was dumping her, she would rather know than him just avoid her.

She blinked around the room in which she was in. The distinctive décor should ordinarily have provoked emotions in her but now, with so much on her mind, little of the surroundings were having any effect on her senses.

She had herself to blame too, of course. If she had not opened her mouth she would not have spent the last week carrying out elf duties and then thinking up ways in which she could make up for her transgression. Hermione shook her head, responding to her inner dialogue. She had to presume then they were not as they were…and if that was the situation then…they were back to their old selves, three friends…

…and if that were the case then she had no call to have feelings of guilt and anger towards anyone…

"There's no good will be spent dwelling on such things." Her voice was low but severe and she scolded herself mercilessly. "This will help," she added. Then the enormity and wrecklessness of what she was about to do hit home. Hermione began to shake and she folded her arms around her slender frame, looking around into the blackness.

But what was she to do? Both friends were not at the present time amenable to being spoken to. What choice did she have? She was supposed to be studying for her owls, but she had no free time because of the elf chores that had forced upon her. She could not talk to anyone about it; when she had wanted to speak to one of her two friends he had ignored her and when she had tried to contact the one person in the Order who she thought she could trust he had belittled and scorned her and made her feel stupid and useless…

"The Continuum of Wizards".

Hermione Granger looked at the title on the parchment that she had carefully written. The letters were not as clear as she would have liked them to be; her own handwriting being somewhat scrawly and though she would normally have used the "Typis" charm, in this case, for what she was constructing here, her heart sang with outraged pride that she had not used it.

Sitting in the library and pulling Harry Potter's invisibility cloak (illicitly procured by means to remain undisclosed) over her again Hermione wondered whether what she was about to write would actually make any difference to anything. She hated the world now, hated what it had become. Hated the fact if she stood a chance in succeeding in the wizard world, of which she had chosen to be a part when she was eleven that she would be forced to make a choice between it and her family. Why? Why did she have to deny them? Why had the government of her chosen world had made rules of exclusivity…?

And then there was her own voicelessness, made so by those who were supposed to be on her side. So she had given up on seeking repentance and had taken matters into her own hands.

Ignoring the tingling sensation at the top of her nose and behind her eyes that Hermione knew preceded lachrymosity she forced herself to look at the words she had written on the parchment.

"The Continuum of Wizards".

They were not her words, but those of Mrs Frobisher which she had caught illicitly and quite by chance written on lined notepaper that had been sandwiched between two pages of a book. Two pages of a book that happened to reside at the back of Snape's desk in the space between the bottom drawer and the flagstone floor, a place where on several occasions Hermione has seen him return it as she had watched him pore over it for many an hour.

Deception was not in Hermione's nature however curiosity definitely was. Combined with betrayal and a sense of righteousness when even her friends had pushed her away the young witch felt alone and helpless, which was a very risky combination indeed. Each time she had sneaked around the castle at night on behalf of the task she was undertaking it had been a response to hurt and pain which she knew she couldn't express to anyone, not even Ron. Each illicit act, each deed of espionage had been a form of therapy, done entirely for selfish reasons with each one had become bolder…

…and then one night she had re-read Mrs Frobisher's letters to her and the last piece that completed the edge of the jigsaw had fallen into place creating a rectangular space framed with logic, betrayal, anxiety, pain, academia and hope in which Hermione could operate…Mrs Frobisher needed help and she needed help from someone who understood what it was like to look from the outside in…

That had been two months ago. To anyone who knew Hermione, either in their capacity as her teacher, friend, boyfriend, peer or parent it would seem that nothing had changed…that nothing that had occurred since the restriction of muggles under the Security Act had affected her in any way. On the surface, and even a little deeper she was the same Hermione Granger.

But her core had changed…it had changed significantly. She now had a reason to act as she did as well as an outlet for her emotions. Mrs Frobisher had inadvertently helped her and now she, Hermione Granger, was help her in return by interpreting the information that she had recorded and committed faithfully to laboratory notes, letters and script.

Sorry, Mrs Frobisher. I didn't mean to blame you.

And now she had finally done it. Those last eight weeks of subterfuge, deception and lies were at an end, culminating in the document that she was about to create as she sat in her favourite environment, that is: alone in the library with her thoughts.

"The Continuum of Wizards"

Hermione read the title again, before biting her lip as she picked up her quill. Underneath the title she added, "…a theory of science by Mrs Cecilia Frobisher, edited by Miss Hermione Granger…"

Because she really didn't care if she was found out. What was her life worth anyway, if she wasn't able to live and work in a free society? At least through her abilities she was able to move along the work that Mrs Frobisher had begun and fuse together too many loose ends.

And so Hermione continued to write, slowly and carefully by hand, taking her time as she committed each word to paper using a Bic biro that Cecilia had once given to her. She began by outlining what a continuum was, detailing it with examples and anecdotes before detailing briefly the Universal Link. She discussed abilities and drew a continuum curve, annotating the important parts of it and explaining what each part meant.

"…the continnum curve, originally attributed to the muggle scientist Gauss, is a clear indicator of a population and shows statistic representations of characteristics of that population. Applying this tool to wizards we will see that:

the top 0.5 and bottom 0.5 of this particular population that is, wizards and their magical ability fall at the very ends of the distribution.

the majority of the wizard population fall in the middle, with a range of "average" magical ability

that the "average" magical ability is applicable to almost all wizards, with the exception of a tiny minority who are either very able or very unable. The minority in this case would be approximately five in every thousand wizards at either end.

This tool of science is a useful way of looking at wizard ability for we know of a small minority of very powerful wizards, and we also know that wizards who are not very powerful (and who are wizards still) are not very powerful.

The wizards who are not very powerful or able are not squibs (for these are people for whom the correct combinations of genes have not been able to activate the so-called "W" gene that is a prerequisite for magical ability) nor are they muggles, (ho do not possess the "W" gene). They are in fact wizards who have very little power either through lack of time to develop the appropriate skills or because of their environment.

This means that wizards exist with little or no powers that might have ordinarily gone on to develop and hone their magical abilities have not done so for a number of reasons. Mrs Frobisher suggests that some of these reasons include: upbringing in a muggle environment, late-onset of abilities and choice of lifestyle.

This is the continuum of wizards. Wizards do not just exist, but a complicated set of factors cause them to be."

Suddenly, Hermione broke off and she realised that the dam of tears that she was repressing behind her olfactory glands was about to burst through. Putting down the parchment, she held her pen in her hand and felt the tears lash at her skirt like turbulent waters on a cliff-face. Relief, that's what she felt, and liberty too. She had used her own abilities to help in unorthodox ways; stealing around Hogwarts, lying to her friends, invading the privacy of teachers. It was all over now. Harry would have to accept her back as a friend after reading this she thought as she ignored the weight of his ill-gotten cloak over her head. But she wouldn't give it to him yet, not until the time was right.

Getting to her feet, Hermione slipped skilfully out of the school's library, through the short-cut that she had discovered behind the suit of armour that stood outside that led to the second floor above the Great Hall. From there she crept along the corridor until she reached the teachers' quarters which she had entered more than a few times that year.

Closing the door behind her Hermione made her way along the passage, past Mrs Frobisher's old room and, nodding politely to it, she continued until she was outside that of Snape.

"Substantia oblivate!" Hermione pointed her wand towards the wall of Snape's room, waiting for the matter that formed a physical support and shield to the eye to disappear and she looked fervently for the occupant of the room.

No Snape, Hermione realised, holding onto the parchment she had carefully written, before pointing her wand to his locked door.

"Alohomora!" she declared, before scurrying into the empty room through the now-open door.

Dropping to her knees, Hermione pulled open the bottom drawer of Snape's desk, ignoring the mysterious and gruesome contents that lay within before feeling underneath it for the wad of papers and books of Mrs Frobisher's that she knew to be hiding within and hauling them out before spreading them messily onto the floor beside them.

"Come on…" she whispered to herself, as she leafed through the pages of Mrs Frobisher's large notebook, looking for a suitable place within which to secrete the information that she had written. Finally, she found the last page that Cecilia had written, her untidy handwriting (that Hermione had long thought could do with a touch of "Typos") finishing half way down and she slipped the sheaf of earth-shattering parchment inside, before hurrying to replace it, and then the drawer, and then remove herself back to the Gryffindor common room to replace the invisibility cloak and then back to the girl's dorms to sleep for an hour and pretend that what she had done she in fact had _not _done…

Hermione was scrambling back to her feet having already accomplished the "replace notes, replace drawer" step of her plan before a thought hit her, and she pulled the drawer back out (taking care that the inky-black substance that was lurking on an uncovered petri-dish did not splash) and seized the notes again.

Turning hastily to the page where she had left her parchment, Hermione grabbed it from between two of the book's pages and got to her feet, slapping it on the desk above and gripping her biro determinedly as she read her final sentence.

"This is the continuum of wizards. Wizards do not just exist, but a complicated set of factors cause them to be."

After the word "wizards" she drew an upwards pointing arrow and inserted the words "and muggles." Then, pausing to think, Hermione drew out her wand from her robe again.

"Reproducto!" she declared, and suddenly, where only one parchment had lain on the ebony table-top another, identical to the first in every way lay unassumingly, as if it had always been there.

Secreting the original parchment into Cecilia's notes again and replacing Snape's bottom desk drawer, Hermione continued with her plan of action of returning to the common room, depositing the invisibility cloak back at the bottom of Ron's bed in the boy's dormitory before slipping into her unslept-in bed.

When the time was right, thought Hermione carefully as she held the second copy of her parchment tightly in her hand. That's when she would give to Harry. He would listen to her, and forgive her. Her friend would know again where her loyalties lay.

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Harry Potter looked at the information again as he lay on his bed with his four-poster bed curtains pulled tightly shut. Adjacent lay his friend Ron Weasley with whom he had just had a lengthy conversation, the conclusion of which was clearly satisfactory for he was now able to sleep, evidence in support of this coming from low, intermittent snores. He felt sorry for Ron, and for men in general and had listened to his friend describe a distance that had now come between him and Hermione. Harry had very little to offer in the way of advice but he had agreed with his friend that her disappearances and unexplained absences would concern him if he were in Ron's position.

And it was strange how this change in status in his friend had made Harry feel more comfortable, so much so he had contemplated sharing with Ron his conversation with Sirius and what he was planning to do and he would have done so had not the conclusion of his last conversation with his godfather caused Harry to take Sirius's indirect advice literally: to work things out for himself, to make decisions himself and not to seek answers from anyone else.

So had had started with the science Cecilia Frobisher had once taught him. There was little chance that he would understand the Universal Link but he could understand the reason why the potion for him was being made. He could get to the bottom of what and when was going to happen and he could seek answers.

One answer he was attempting to seek had come to him when he was tidying his trunk. Harry looked at torn pages that Tonks had told him to tear them out of Mysterious Mythology. They were from Lupin's original copy. He wondered why she had done it: to keep him safe? Mrs Frobisher wouldn't have ever had a problem with that. To protect her? To protect herself…

And a thought occurred to Harry…why had _he_ kept it? He looked down at the words, rounded and evenly spaced, with the words "energylightmagic" running end to end as a border around the pages. They had been the originals, he knew, the one Lupin's father had kept for Raymond Lully, Sirius's relative. At the time he had agreed with Tonks that he would help he didn't know the significance of the words made the border of the page…it wasn't to do with its scarcity factor.

Reaching under the curtains of his four-poster bed Harry's hand felt around for the Book of Scientists that he'd acquired through hard work in his Muggle Studies lessons, now very worn and battered. He closed that corner of his mind and looked randomly through it.

…Joseph Black…

He had been the scientist connected to energy and harnessing it in an engine, the same Joseph Black who had been in the Ministry and set up one of the harshest regimes against muggles of all time. Harry's eye caught the name of another scientist…this one he had heard about; it was one of the ones that Mrs Frobisher had made that joke about…

…James Watt…

…the inventor of the steam engine…

Harry read on before reading the words, "Lunar Society." He looked up, focusing on the knot-holes in the wooden headboard straight in front of him. Lunar Society? He flicked open the pages to the "L" section where he failed to find any mention of such a society.

Was this a coincidence? Sirius's ancestor, an anti-muggle, had been connected to a muggle scientist who had belonged to a club with the word "Lunar" in the title. Harry looked across to his curtains before stepping out. Where was he to go? He daren't risk sneaking out, as the McGonagall had threatened him with no more Quidditch as well as suspended Hogsmeade visiting privileges and his thoughts turned to Hermione and he wondered if he should seek her out to get her perspective.

Making to take a step out of bed Harry paused. She _had_ been acting odd recently, as Ron had said. Perhaps it would be better if he left her to it and left whatever was going on between them for them to sort out, and besides, it was much better if he worked out what he really needed to know himself. It was a shame that this sort of thing didn't come naturally to him. Shaking the thought from his mind Harry reached down under his bed again into the open storage case on wheels Harry completely failed to locate his invisibility cloak.

Damn. It would now mean acting on his wits. He was so used to being up at night that the presence of other teachers did not bother him. Harry shook his head and pictured the school's library in his mind. Tomorrow. I'll search it tomorrow and find out about this society, if I can. Maybe the cloak will have turned up then.

Closing the long draped curtains so his bed was once again entirely closed off from the rest of the universe Harry Potter opened up his scientists' book again and read…

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A/N: A short but necessary chapter. Please let me know what you think!


	19. The Corners of the Earth

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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The potion sat on the large table that almost filled the small office at the back of the Potions classroom. In fact, "the" potion is inaccurate as it suggests that only one vial of the potentially world-changing magical concoction is there, sitting in a sea of ebony-blackness alone and isolated. In fact, the potion _was_ on the dark wooden table but in so many different states and forms that it would have taken a very long time to count them.

Severus Snape, who was sitting on a chair in front of them, would just have to admit that he had come to a dead end. It was what he had said to Dumbledore: it was the science he was mostly concerned about.

He had come up with many ways to refine it, of course: the basic potion and its magical effects were, as he had said five days ago to the headmaster, entirely verified but it was the science behind it which needed to be resolved and without the results of the analyses that Tonks had promised him or without someone with several years of experience in the muggle world and who had spent many months in the wizard one it was not about to get any better.

Looking at the cluttered table again he wondered whether flooing her parents' house again would be a good idea or if it would cause her mother to threaten to curse him once more. It wasn't so much the speed of the results but rather, whether allowing the witch to pass the hair that had arrived with the first letter from Cecilia Frobisher on to her husband meant that the analysis would be entirely accurate. It would be some good the muggle analysing the samples but would he be as judicious and objective as his ex-research partner?

There was nothing for it but to wait. Wait until the Order meeting that evening to find out the results. He would then attempt to request for other samples to be analysed, those of Remus Lupin in both his normal and lupine state and Tabitha Penwright. They at least should procure some meaningful results. He looked back at the table and nodded slowly as he shelved the potion in his mind before opening the long thin drawer that lay below the table top, removing the letter that had arrived for him almost a week ago and recalling a time not too long ago when he had sent a letter to her. Petunia Dursley. He had felt sure that once she had read the contents of it she would never at all reply…but, of course, never ended six days ago when he had received a lengthy missive detailing her flaws.

Well, that had been what he had called them when he had written to Petunia Evans to tell her it was over. It must have taken immense courage for her to have done this; clearly Cecilia Frobisher was responsible. There was nothing that it contained he didn't already know or didn't suspect and Snape pondered on the irony that, having spent a large portion of his time over several months in the intimate company of a muggle, he would have gladly have accepted Petunia no matter what her flaws. Would only things have been different. Gripping the letter in his left hand so that it crumpled into an uneven ball Snape pulled open the drawer again and threw it back in, annoyed.

And what was annoying him? Well, his aforementioned ex-research partner who was currently in hiding in the home of Petunia Ev – Dursley. That was (a). What was annoying him in particular was (b) her absence for he knew that had she still been at Hogwarts the scientific side of this problem would have been solved and concluded long before the potion was and (c) he was getting stuck and the only way things could be better would be Cecilia Jane Frobisher being there to help him…because if had she magic she could make better potions than some wizards…

Snape got suddenly to his feet and, closing the door on the unfinished mess on his desk he strode through the Potions classroom, into the teaching corridor and then left, towards the courtyard. From there he entered the door opposite the Great Hall and climbed the stairs which would eventually lead him to the teachers' quarters. Retrieving what he was looking for the wizard made his way back down to the classroom and back into his office.

He turned a few pages of one of her notebooks, the ones he had removed when he had taken her from the cottage to Privet Drive during his function as the secret-keeper. He had read over them more than a dozen times, taking in the information and processing it, refining the work and improving it. But what he had come to realise was, whereas he was indeed brilliant at both science and magic, Cecilia was brilliant too and, furthermore, she embodied both disciplines; the books were testament to that. Every so often little doodles appeared, revealing her thoughts and Snape recalled her sitting in the Muggle Studies classroom, as she was wont to do, idling away as if waiting for something, or simply contemplating as she was waiting for a test piece of the research batches to blend to completion.

Snape looked back to his last effort, the second cauldronful of the evening and he watched the inky black substance swirl and move within its container. There was no reference to any form of energy that had caused it to change and transform into what it was now yet energy must have played a part. He leaned over, touching the metal of the cauldron, and was surprised at its coldness. Clearly this potion, this chemical reaction, was endothermic, and in being so must have consequences to its efficacy. Not its efficacy with Harry; this wasn't the original potion he was brewing now, indeed not even the refined one. He had used the information at the back of the books to construct something ultimately new.

But still, she wasn't there now for him to speak to, for him to verify his conclusion by asking her suspicions of the potion itself; that potions with the ultimate efficacy were produced which amplified the energy and frequency required despite debilitating the drinker in some way, so much so the effects could be permanent. He needn't have considered it; had anyone asked he could have claimed he had enough to do with Harry's potion that anything additional would not be profitable. It was a conclusion he would have drawn almost a year ago. What if he didn't' develop it, after all the information she had given him. Would Severus Snape pursuing the aspect of science for Harry Potter's potion mean she would love him less…or him more?

And if he managed to make it work…she would always be a little in his debt…she did give him the notes for a reason…

Long forgotten feelings roused in Snape's mind as he pictured her sleeping. This is how he would always remember her…how, lost in dreams, he watched her be…not doing anything but just being her…how he had expressed his feelings for her…how she had responded…

And he would show her his love now not through physical desire but by assisting one who needed it. He had the skill and the knowledge through the notes on lycanthropy provided by her to develop a cure for Lupin. After that, his life would change for –

"Severus."

No knock had accompanied the sound of Albus Dumbledore's voice as it penetrated Snape's consciousness. He looked to the door and then back to his hand where he realised that Dumbledore was staring, and also that he had within it the first letter, now wrinkled and creased.

"I see you received the letter that was delivered inadvertently to me," said the wizard, closing the office door behind him. Snape nodded.

"Indeed. Mrs Frobisher. It contains everything we need to know, to complete the potion." Flattening it a little he held it open in Dumbledore's direction. The headmaster's eyes rested on the small, amateurly-drawn illustration in the corner, his eyes sparkling a little. "She has done all we have asked of her," continued Snape. "Might I suggest – "

"You know, Severus, that it could have been any of the letters sent to Mrs Frobisher that alerted the ministry to her presence," interrupted Dumbledore as he folded the letter back towards a silent Snape.

"Indeed."

"It was fortunate that you were able to create a secure enough place for Mrs Frobisher to hide. I delayed them as long as I could. It is for that which we all will be eternally grateful."

"So now there is no reason that she cannot return to complete her work," prompted Snape, turning to look at the cauldron before him, mystified slightly as to why it had begun to separate out in places.

"And I am sure that would be perfectly possible if Mrs Frobisher not pursuing the second task, the one that you unwittingly led her to through Miss Evans's notes."

"Mrs Potter's notes," corrected Snape.

"As I recall, she was still Miss Evans that night when she came to you – " He broke off, paying keen attention to the cauldron that Snape had just abandoned, replacing him as the prime observer of the substance. The potions teacher felt a silent rage begin to build and then Dumbledore looked at him. He hung his head limply…

…and recalling the night that he had followed them from the castle, watched Lupin transform into a werewolf…how James Potter had saved him from being pawed to death…how he had stumbled into the castle with superficial wounds, determined to report the incident…how instead he had come upon Lily Evans, his old childhood friend…how he had dismissed her because of her growing closeness to that band of aforementioned troublemakers…

…how she had calmed him down and talked to him for a long time before revealing her own thoughts about Lupin's condition, how she'd explained that she'd been collecting information about it so she could one day find a cure…how she was sure, even after her copious notes, theories and predictions she knew she was not clever enough to draw it all together, not least make a potion to combat the effects…

"Your fervent desire to keep your promise to Miss Evans has yielded more than just Lupin's cure," concluded Dumbledore quietly, as if he had been an interloper in Snape's silent memories.

"I did not develop the wolfsbane potion, headmaster," replied Snape, "nor have I progressed with anything more than a greater yield from the raw ingredients…" Dumbledore sighed and smoothed the shorter pieces of his beard into a point.

"By giving Cecilia Frobisher Lily Evans's field notes you have given her not just hope but a purpose. You know more than anything that in her situation she would have yielded to impatience and restlessness before now. A mind like that seldom rests." Snape said nothing. There was a choice now that still had to be made but he wasn't going to make it.

"If I have one regret, it is that by giving her the tools to complete what I could not has led her to a life of misery and sorrow. Were she to complete the potion, and all that Lupin hopes for in a recovery from his lycanthropy and she were to marry him, then it would be a false union…"

"You believe Remus Lupin's loving interest to be false." It wasn't a question. Snape closed his eyes and then opened them, looking at the now-gelatinous mass again. When he returned his gaze to Dumbledore the headmaster had his arms folded matching his own gaze of steely determination.

"It is not for us to decide, Severus. People must be allowed to make their own choices."

"Even if it will lead to their unhappiness? It remains to be seen if the feelings he claims would be the same were he not…ill. Or if Mrs Frobisher were not a muggle. Or if – " He broke off, turning back towards the cauldron of now-cold potion and hoping his own great skills at occlumency were enough to keep from Dumbledore the images he had seen race through his mind when he took Mrs Frobisher from Lupin's cottage to Privet Drive, when he had extrapolated her future based on her present circumstances…when he had imagined her confiding her woes to him, seeking his counsel…"

"It is not for us to decide, Severus. If Mrs Frobisher succeeds in untangling the information Lily Evans so faithfully committed to parchment then there is nothing to prevent us, as a friend, from listening to her worries as you have always done…you must not make the mistake of confusing her for Lily."

An image flickered over Snape's mind, one of youth and passion. A woman, asleep. A woman that he loved.

"Nor should Lupin," exclaimed Snape, hotly. "I understand Cecilia Frobisher…what she is, a muggle and a woman. Powerless. Unenlightened. She is in need of protection, not to be placed in further danger. She is certainly not Lily Evans." A few moments passed. And then Dumbledore spoke again.

"It was good of Petunia Dursley to reveal to you her experiences, Severus. He glanced at the address portion of the envelope, noting his own obliterated name. "Had she the mindset of her sister then I could probably accepted her to Hogwarts. However, she chose a different path." Snape closed his eyes, fighting for mental clarity. Once it was established he opened them again.

"Harry's potion will soon be completed in its entirety and it will be fit for him to take," Snape gestured to the potion. "This, his base, he may take up to twenty four hours in advance, which might speed up the efficacy and be less complicated in the heat of battle. It will be attuned to his natural frequency and that of the killing curse which he must use himself alone. I have only to fine tune it, which can be done when I have completed the scientific analyses of which I spoke to you earlier this week and of which some Tonks may well have completed by this evenings' meeting." He bowed his head and Dumbledore lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Excellent work as usual, Severus." Removing his hand Dumbledore turned and held the handle of the office door. "Goodnight."

The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry left the Potions classroom office, leaving the subject's professor staring at a parchment letter recognisable to him as being from the same source as the first.

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Archie Busby didn't want to be there dark, cold, wet, windswept place. He looked at the horizon as the dying sun's light irradiated off the interface between land and sea and glanced up further at the huge rain-cloud that was poised to shed its contents all over again. When he took the job almost three years ago Archie didn't think that the permanent localised storm, that was designed to depress everyone inside the building would cause him to be so down but, slowly and steadily, that was what was beginning to happen.

He'd thought about applying for a transfer: there were other wizard prisons around the world that would appreciate his skills and attention to detail…

...he shook his head and watched the ministry witch who had appeared in the lobby of the most fortified wizard building in Britain. Well, he'd just get this over with, he thought as he selected the correct bunch of keys for the corridors that he needed.

"Are you ready, Mr. Busby?" The witch's voice was light but firm. "I need at least two of them, three if you can spare them."

"What're you needing three dementors for, Miss…er…?"

"Penwright," said Tabitha Penwright. "Ministerial business."

"Oh." That's what they all said. Archie scratched his stubbly chin as he sought the key for the first barred door. Ministerial business. As if they didn't need their full quota of dementors for the prisoners here and the ministry show up every so often borrowing them.

Through the second door they came and Archie felt himself shudder. The wretched creatures always made him feel like that. He glanced across at the ministry witch, at her anguished expression. She hadn't come across dementors this close. And she wanted to take them back to the Ministry for Magic? Well, that was what the paperwork had said, and she was a ministry witch. But her manner and demeanour, like a scared rabbit, made Archie Busby think.

"You are capable of handling them?" he added as they walked down a dull, dark corridor towards a third barred door. "You're taking them back to the Ministry, right?" Tabitha nodded. "I won't be taking them physically though," she added as the door squealed open. "I'm here to give them instructions about a small task we have for them." Archie shook his head in disapproval. It was bad enough that he had to be in charge of these foul creatures without the ministry popping in when it felt like it and disrupting the smooth running of the place.

"That is okay with you, isn't it?" Archie looked at Tabitha Penwright sharply, unsure whether it was a genuine question or veiled sarcasm. He chose to believe it was the former.

"Of course, Miss Penwright. I'll isolate two now."

"Three," corrected Tabitha. "I understand Azkaban is not at its fullest capacity. I need them for only a short time and they will be returned to you." Archie paused, before nodding grudgingly in agreement. He entered the third door, which looked to Tabitha like a black room. Its dimensions she could not guess but, as it was supposed to house hundreds of dementors she guessed it would be rather large. A few moments later and Officer Busby returned, his expression one of distress but with a small smile of triumph on his face. He handed a small metal disc to Tabitha.

"Here you are," he said nodding at her. "I got the buggers. Watch as you go, eh? It'd be better to give them the instructions for whatever you want 'em to do first before you leave otherwise you might find them floating off in all directions." He waited for Tabitha to move. When she didn't he frowned and stood aside from the door.

"Miss Penwright? They're yours now."

"Officer Busby," said Tabitha, flashing him the most flattering smile that she could manage. "This is my first time handling dementors. I would be most grateful if you could show me how to give them the instructions for their task. I have it written down here." From the inside of her robe Tabitha had taken a folded piece of parchment stamped with the ministry's blue seal which she handed to Archie. The prison officer took it and unfolded it, reading it in its entirety.

"I see," he said gravely, folding up the document and returning it to Tabitha. "If you'd have _said_ it was concerning – " But Archie's words about who the dementors were to be used to capture were drowned out from a cacophony of moans, screams and shouts above them. Clearly the dementors from the room adjacent to them had gone on their rounds in the prison cells. Tabitha closed her eyes as she waited for the shock of the noise to pass her by.

"Okay," he said. "I won't be long. What mode of transport are you using?"

"Broom," said Tabitha, motioning to Azkaban's front desk, outside which she had left it.

"Excellent," said Archie Busby, glancing into blackened room as he spoke, his voice tinged with pride. "To catch this felon, well: I am most honoured to be part of the service. You can go, Miss Penwright. Once I've given them the instructions you told me about, they'll go automatically to the Ministry for Magic. All you need to do then is to tell them to act and…Robert's your mother's brother."

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It should have taken Tabitha Penwright no more than an hour to fly directly from the North Sea to London. It was night-time, there was little traffic and it was cold. No self-respecting witch would want to be out of doors on this cold summer night when they could be back in the office solving mysteries.

Unfortunately that was not what she would be able to do. When she received the message from Dolores Umbridge to return from Hogwarts to assist the Ministry Tabitha didn't have to be told twice. But when she arrived there it seemed she was needed not to continue to work on her mystery, as fancy had told her would be the case. Rather, it seemed, she would be undertaking a junior auror role, one of interrogation and mostly of logistics and paperwork.

It wasn't that Tabitha couldn't carry out the job, indeed: the work was easy. All ministry workers were trained in basic junior auror roles so they could double-up where necessary. The work tended to be tedious and very annoying, especially when one department had a different agenda to another and often as a junior auror you had to liaise between more than two. Tabitha gripped her broomstick tightly with both hands as she contemplated what lay before her and she pictured a weekend of waiting, filling in forms and walking around the ministry building slowly getting nowhere.

Her first task was over, though. She had taken the owled letter she had received that morning with her to Azkaban and organised the dementors. They would be necessary for another job, one of vital security. Tabitha had breathed a sigh of relief to know that they would arrive automatically at the Ministry in London for she had had visions of the three of them tailing after her all the way there and not being able to control them properly if things went wrong.

A glow lay on the horizon, like the yolk of an egg. London lay ahead, no more than twenty minutes away and her desk no more than half an hour. Tabitha bit her lip as she thought of what her weekend was about to entail.

She was to supervise, with other ministerial workers in junior auror roles, dangerous half breeds taken away for their protection. Not that they would be dangerous now, not no they were in the Ministry's cells. Tabitha shuddered. It wouldn't be interesting, nor would it be short. Dolores had told her that they were still collecting them in. Tabitha knew what that meant: she would be there, processing names and descriptions, extracting statements and filing gruesome details of their victims that they had assaulted or killed, recommending their trials for wizardslaughter or murder.

Well, thought Tabitha as London loomed nearer. Someone had to do the dogsbody work after all, and she had told Dolores that she wanted to be back at the Ministry. Somehow though, she could see her being relieved of the duties of junior auror in time to return to Hogwarts to teach on Monday.

As she flew into the outskirts of the sodium-yellow sky Tabitha's mind drifted to the third piece of mail that Dobby had ceremoniously presented to her that morning. She recalled her astonishment when she had read about an end of year ball to which she, in her capacity as Muggle Studies teacher, was invited. That had been the best invitation of all. Not only would she see the students in their finery but she would know that her next journey back to London would be her last and that never again would she have to set foot in that wretched school.

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How lovely to get dressed up in her finery thought Hermione as she watched the early morning sunlight rise from the top of the Gryffindor common room. The stairs that led to the girls' and boys' bedrooms led further on and she had often wondered where they led. Two nights ago she found out by continuing up them for quite a way before coming to a small wooden door. Behind it was a small circular room which rose to a point above her head. This was quite obviously the top of the tower of which the dormitories were apart.

Two nights ago, having tried to engage Ron in conversation and failing miserably and not wanting to return to a packed dormitory she made her way up there, opening and closing the door behind her. And here she was now, sitting behind the stained glass in the middle of the night, sitting here because she didn't want to be anywhere else. It was peaceful and quiet up there, with no-one, not even a ghost to disturb her.

She remembered helping Ron and Harry get Hagrid's dragon off to Ron's brother in their first year from the top of this tower, how great friends they all were. How they had fought the basilisk in their second year and discovered Remus Lupin's secret in their third. How, during their fourth they had witnessed the tri-wizard championship in which Harry had taken part, how she had felt when Viktor has asked her to the ball.

Hermione lingered on that memory and the one later, where she had told Ron that if there was a ball next time, he should ask her. And he had. How dizzy she had been with nerves because the feeling of being asked out by Ron dwarfed any feelings she had ever had for Viktor Krum. This time, the second ball of the year Ron was now her boyfriend but it was doubtful he would ask her to go.

An owl fluttered past the window, probably on its way to the Owlery. Hermione shuddered. Had it been worth it, pretending to be Mrs Frobisher, using polyjuice potion to try to induce expression of his feelings? Somehow, Hermione concluded, it was not.

Hermione reached to her neck and felt for the necklace. She still wore it, the beautiful necklace that Cecilia Frobisher had given to her, in fact sometimes she wore it under her uniform. It was nice to feel close to her sometimes, like being closer to her own muggle roots and now that she had planted the "Continuum of Wizards" in Snape's possession her feelings of anger had waned.

We will all look lovely, thought Hermione as the image of the Christmas Ball made a reappearance in her mind. By then, the examinations will be over and so would the Order's plan. She buckled her knees up under her folded arms. And she would have caught Ron and Harry in suitably pleasant moods and she could share with them the Continuum.

Hermione didn't know why she didn't go straight to bed that night. Perhaps it was because she had been in the habit of walking around the castle for the last six weeks at night working on the "Continuum of Wizards". Perhaps it was because she wasn't ready to settle back to a day's revision when she knew that her work could change her friends' lives at any moment.

Whatever the reason that Hermione made her way down to the library it meant that she caught part of a very interesting conversation. A conversation between a returned Professor Umbridge and Professor Penwright using the floo network. A conversation which described, from what Hermione could hear, that a trace had been placed on Cecilia Frobisher when she had left Lupin's cottage. A conversation which implied that her ex-Muggle Studies teacher could not be found if she were living amongst muggles but, as soon as she reacquainted herself with the wizard world they'd have her. A conversation whose information Hermione felt the need to pass on to Professor Snape.

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It was dark. Darkness overwhelmed the little room in the Dursley household and Cecilia Frobisher had woken up from a restless sleep. It was the dreams that were hardest to overcome. At the time of day when everything was supposed to be fluffy clouds and angels all Cecilia could dream about were the events of the Great Battle, the attack on the cottage and Remus Lupin.

This night was no exception and her dreams had been filled with her Remus lying in a foetal position in front of the fire. She had tried to call out to her in her dream, she had tried to reach him. He was speaking in her mind, crying out for her but it was as if she were behind the cottage's windows, looking in from the outside…

…her dream had turned to their bedroom and Remus was asleep. He was asleep and she was next to him. He had called her name. Not her name, _her_ name…and over his body were injuries more than a full moon could induce…

It was dark and Cecilia Frobisher recalled the fading sight of her beloved wizard as he lay, injured by her side. Not her side, _her_ side. She, Cecilia, was somewhere outside, looking in through the window.

She sat up in the single bed, a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" duvet cover that had apparently once belonged to Dudley encasing the only comfort she had. Cecilia was awake and could no more think of sleep than if she had woken up refreshed.

…he had called her name, so piteously, so desiredly…not her name, _her_ name…

Rivulets of tears streamed over Donatello as Cecilia Frobisher wept over her lot, and weeping mainly for the guilt which began to infuse through her as the reality of how comfortable she had become in the Dursley household and teaching Dudley that Remus had barely featured on her mental landscape. She wanted to be at home with him despite her adaptation to the Dursley household…

…what she wanted more than anything was to be reassured…

…what she wanted above anything else was to know that it was all a dream…that the name she had heard her Remus call which was not her own was not true…but she knew that he had had feelings for her…not her, but _her_…and the burden pressed on her chest so hard she felt she couldn't breathe…

Cecilia threw back the covers and, over the top of her decade-old pyjamas, she threw on a dressing gown that Mrs Dursley had lent her. She pulled away the chair that was propping up the handle of the door before unlocking it then she picked her way down the stairs quickly and quietly.

There was only one person who could reassure her, but that person…those people…were gone…

Under the hall table sat the telephone directory and Cecilia leafed quickly to the front for the number of the operator. Once she had found it she made her way into the living room, closing the door behind her. She picked up the phone and dialled, running through the stark information that she had available to her. It was all she could do, all she had left…

"Operator, which name please?"

"W – Wells," stammered Cecilia.

"Wells," repeated the operator. "Which location."

"Scotland," said Cecilia, her breath heavy.

"Scotland? Can you be more specific?"

"Not really," whispered Cecilia as the creak of a floorboard overhead made her jump. "I'll wait."

"We have…over three hundred listings for the name Wells," replied the operator. Cecilia's heart beat faster as her mental horizon began to diminish.

"Thank you," said Cecilia, pulling the phone from her head. She replaced it onto the receiver and stared out through the gap in the net curtains at the block-paved Drive. Over three hundred Wellses. She wouldn't be speaking to her mother that night.

Defeated, Cecilia sat on the sofa waiting for the day to dawn. There was no sleeping now…all she could do was wait. Wait until Mrs Dursley got up and refused her help with breakfast. Wait until Mr Dursley got up and avoid his lewd remarks as she changed into clothes. Wait until Dudley Dursley arose and protested about learning science. Wait until Snape knocked at the front door and told her she was going home…

The early morning sunlight began to peek in through the window like a nervous peeping Tom. Cecilia leaned her head back on the settee and her eye settled on the pile of newspapers that Vernon Dursley insisted on having delivered but rarely read. Picking one up at random Cecilia swung her legs up onto the settee (an act which would have, had it been done in front of Petunia Dursley, made her ears ring with silent reprimand) and rested the newspaper on her knees.

The Labour Party…Tony Blair…Blair's Babes…Princess Diana on holiday…Northern Ireland…those were the topics that dominated the first dozen or so pages of the newspaper. She flicked a bit further on to the "Must Have" fashion section of the newspaper before turning to the letters.

'What I want to know is, will the new Prime Minister do something about immigration? I think not!' The words from one of the letters that had been clearly sent in by a regular reader of the newspaper (for they had cited articles from previous issues earlier in their letter) made Cecilia shake her head and she realised for the first time how foolish muggles such as C. Thorney, Herts must seem to wizards, so wrapped up in their own little lives.

Cecilia turned to the back page and glanced at the sports section. Villa had won their match against Arsenal. Well, at least some things were worth printing. Wimbledon was due to start very soon indeed by the look of a couple of pages' coverage of some American tennis players a few leaves in. She turned to the back again. Something looked odd. She scanned across the page before folding down the paper. Then she looked at it again.

Cecilia shook her head. Why did a random page of football scores, the inevitable back page cartoon and a photograph of a newly purchased Stan Collymore taking the third goal of the match against Liverpool make her feel better all of a sudden? She didn't know, but looking at it was helping to soothe her mind.

A few moments later, newspaper in hand, Cecilia made her way back upstairs, locking her bedroom door again before climbing back under four young malformed fighting amphibians and closing her eyes.

88888888

Harry's mind a little more at ease since he had spoken to Ron again. That Sunday morning he and his friend had taken a walk down the school's scree slope towards Hagrid's cottage and discussed things. Ron had told Harry he wasn't going to be spending as much time with Hermione, something that prompted Harry to confide in him a little.

Once they established that Hagrid was not to be found that morning they continued their walk towards the Black Lake, instead of heading back to their common room to continue with their OWL preparations.

"You can glimpse into Snape's mind?" said Ron as he listened intently to Harry's undetailed description of the memory slide. "You can find out where Mrs Frobisher is."

"Urh! I don't ever want to look in there again!" replied Harry, shaking his head.

"Why? What have you found?" Harry shook his head again before looking back at his friend. Ron was back. Of course he was going to tell him.

"Ever since the connection, I keep dreaming about being at the Dursleys. I'm in my bedroom at Privet Drive. Even though I'm asleep I keep waking up…in my dreams," he added explanatorily. "I keep thinking about the wizards in the Order, as I'm lying in bed at the Dursleys…Mundumngus Fletcher…Snape…Lupin…" Harry trailed off and shook his head. "I don't understand it. It's weird."

"Harry, you don't think that You-Know-Who's behind it, do you?" He stared at his friend, who shrugged.

"I don't know. He might be. I've had this dream every night since the memory slide…I think it must be connected."

They continued to walk in silence for a while as they crossed the small unnecessary bridge that linked one loop of the lake to another.

"Ron, I spoke to Sirius," Harry continued. "He pretty much told me to not contact him again."

"He said that?" Ron's mouth was open in astonishment.

"Not in so many words. He told me to get on with it myself, and wait for the potion. He told me I shouldn't involve anyone else." He saw Ron's shoulders sag. "But I couldn't do it without my best friend." Ron beamed.

"He also told me that Hermione had contacted him." Harry left the sentence hanging in the air and waited for Ron to reply. Instead of speaking, Ron just shook his head.

"What?" asked Harry.

"I told her to leave it," said Ron, looking solemnly at his friend and stopped walking. Harry stopped too. "I told her to get on with being a fifth year student and study for her OWLs. She's got this idea that she knows enough science to help make your potion." Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I told her she was crazy. She seems to think she was the cause of Mrs Frobisher's discovery, because she was learning science from her." Ron stopped and began to walk.

"Is she?" asked Harry, who realised that Ron had begun to walk. "Anyone could have been," he added. "Sirius told me that. I could have been, or your mum…" Ron gave him a Look that could have rivalled his mother's. "I'm just saying, anyone who communicated with Mrs Frobisher at the cottage could have caused the Ministry to find her," he clarified. The glint of murder in his friend's eye disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

"The point is, we don't know, and unless Hermione knows something else, neither does she," Harry concluded as they continued their walk along the path between the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest and Ron grinned at him. Harry smiled too: he had enjoyed their morning, it had reminded them of when younger, before Ron and Hermione had realised they had feelings for one another.

"So what did you see in Snape's mind?" asked Ron at length, his question laced with interest. "Was it gruesome and disgusting?" Harry nodded, and proceeded to confide in Ron the memory he had caught of Snape. He did not dwell on the details but described the lustful act that he had witnessed being played in the mind of his Potions master.

"Maybe your mind's getting stronger," said Ron, once Harry had finished. "Or Snape's is getting weaker. Maybe you're attempt to block out You-Know-Who is paying off?"

"Sirius said that Mysteriours cause memory slides," said Harry slowly. "Perhaps it's nothing to do with our minds. Perhaps it's something to do with Penwright."

"What are you saying, Harry?" asked Ron. Harry shook his head.

"I don't know. I do know is that things are very strange when she's around. The lessons are worse than useless, we all know that. But – "

"But we both know Mrs Frobisher didn't wake up," confirmed Ron. "So what you saw wasn't a proper memory. Mrs Frobisher isn't a witch, and they didn't fall for each other when they were younger. It's like I said all along, it's all in the mind." Ron stopped talking and turned to look at the Black Lake. Below the surface he was sure he could see merpeople, swimming in amongst the reeds and foliage. "You were brave enough to take the potion before, so this time you know what to expect."

Harry nodded, but he didn't mean it. It was bad enough trying to work out what was going on alone without telling anyone: Sirius was right about that. But his best friend just didn't see…just didn't understand…

…but at least they were back to normal.

88888888

It was almost halfway through Sunday afternoon and Draco Malfoy was feeling rather pleased with himself. The weekend had been more than fruitful and light was shining at the end of the tunnel. Sitting in the dipped lawn, out of sight of Mr McFarlane and awaiting the news that Chree and Elrick were bringing of Azzer and his gang, who were expecting him and Dudley to meet him at the local park.

Lying on his stomach Darren's hair fluttered in the breeze which danced playfully above him and he smiled again. Dudley's science books. Oh how glorious his work was now. He could now take them in their entirety to his father, who in turn could give them to the Dark Lord. He shook his head and turned over a page. It was good quality. Much of what the books contained explained plenty of detail about chemical reactions, forces, energy and human biology. Whoever this teacher was they certainly were teaching Dudley Dursley a thing or two.

And not only about science: Dudley had told him, in between telling his friend about his father's untoward behaviour towards his tutor, that she had taught him about other topics in which he was struggling, at his mother's behest. The story about a dictator in Germany who had caused the death of millions of muggles almost sixty years before had genuinely caught Draco's attention and he had commented to Dudley that it had sounded dreadful.

Very soon though, Dudley would be back and he would be able to tell him all about what he had learned. Draco smiled again as he contemplated what his immediate future would hold. Glory and honour. And being free of this muggle-reeking place for good.

"Whatcha got, Daz?" Draco looked up sharply and met the eye of Erick. His instinct was to curse the muggle boy for speaking to him with such hostility but he knew that was just his manner.

"'s Dud's," replied Darren, leaning back and passing the notebook to him. "You all right, Chree?" The girl nodded and looked at Elrick, who was reading the information on the open pages.

"Science?" asked Chree, looking at Draco. "I didn't think you were taking any exams."

"I'm not," said Draco casually, "but I'm a bit tired of sitting in lessons and knowing nothing. Just thought I'd be prepared." He sat back on his hands casually and waited for his friends to join him which they did. Elrick handed Draco back Dudley's book.

"Won't Dud's tutor be going mad at him for not having it?" asked Chree, sweeping her long, dyed-black hair out of her face.

"Probably," said Darren. They all grinned.

"Well, speaking of being prepared, what are you doing tomorrow, Daz?"

"You're off out with Dud, aren't you?" Chree and Elrick exchanged glances. Draco grinned inwardly with delight; clearly neither of them knew of their plans.

"To London, yeah," replied Elrick. "Didn't he invite you?" Draco nodded.

"But I'm expecting a fl – phone call from the olds," said Draco casually. "But you enjoy yourselves," he added. He noticed Elrick and Chree look at one another again.

"We're going to be back in time for six," said Chree, smiling at Draco. "Azzer's expecting to see you and Dud down the park at six thirty." Draco tensed. He hadn't wanted to face the huge teenager again and he knew that, if he had got away with a couple of curses last time now, being so much closer to his goal he wanted to do nothing that would jeopardise that.

"Great!" he said as he took back Dudley's book from Elrick. "Dud!"

All three reprobates looked past the book and at their fourth friend whose book had caused so much discussion and grinned. Dudley grinned back.

"How's home?" asked Elrick darkly. "And your work?"

"Boring," said Dudley, stepping down into the dip and sitting down next to his friends. "Science. Physics. Yawn Yawn Yawn!"

"I'd hate it," said Elrick, shuddering. Chree and Darren nodded in agreement.

"Here you are," said Draco, handing Dudley the book back. "Most enlightening." He watched his friend's face turn to thunder.

"You 'ad it?" shouted Dudley, flicking over a few pages. Draco grinned evilly.

"Bet your tutor was mad," Elrick said, grinning too. Chree let out a shriek of gleeful delight. Dudley snorted, grinning too.

"She was," he replied, laughing heartily. Soon the other three were laughing along with him.

"So," said Dudley at length. "Dad's coming tomorrow to pick us up. Shame you can't make it, Daz," he added, looking sympathetically.

"Where're we going again?" Elrick frowned, hoping his friend's answer would change from what he had given the day before.

"Natural History Museum," said Dudley, leaning back on the crisp clean grass and throwing his notebook under his head. "It's supposed to be fun. Mum chose it and she's insisting we take the tutor." He looked across at Darren. "It'll be a celebration, at any rate," he added, closing his eyes.

"What for?"

"Well, my cousin'll be home from school soon and I suppose my tutor will have gone by then."

"You're celebrating your cousin coming home?" asked Chree.

"Hate him," said Dudley firmly, opening his eyes a little. "Right little martyr, he is. I see it as a celebration of the fact that he's been away for nine months. And my exams'll be over soon." He glanced at Darren. "Don't worry Daz you won't miss much."

88888888

"Good evening." Minerva McGonagall stood before the Order of the Phoenix and surveyed the witches and wizards woefully. She was too old for this, she thought as she watched faces turn expectantly to her, waiting…trusting in her. Well, of course Albus was much older than her...but he had the experience. It was _his_ Order.

"Good evening all," she continued, glancing around the wizards who had all come, who had all become entirely familiar with the plan that was to involve them all so very soon. The plan had come to its culmination, revealed fully to each and every one of the Order by Dumbledore two days ago before leaving Grimmauld Place hastily soon afterwards. All bar one. Remus Lupin was the only absent wizard.

That had been bad enough. What was worse was that, except for a brief visit very early on Saturday morning Albus Dumbledore had left again and she didn't know where he was. Minerva hoped this situation would be temporary; she didn't think that she could continue to be so calm for much longer, especially when nearly every wizard before her had asked her where he was.

"We have some information that is pertinent to the plan that Albus put in place in Friday. He has confided in me to reveal to you that, not only is Harry aware of the prophecy he is also still fully prepared for his role. I know that many of you were concerned about this." She looked around, watching some of the wizards nodding to one another.

"And now to our agenda, which was suspended following Friday's change in events." She looked at the Weasley twins who were standing by their father. "I believe Arthur, you have something to contribute?"

Arthur Weasley looked up from his notes that he was making for the meeting looking somewhat flustered. Beside him his sons were beaming widely, waiting for their father to speak. Next to them stood Mrs Weasley, staring at her husband.

"Yes, yes. My sons, everyone. My sons." Everyone looked at Mr Weasley, waiting to hear what Fred and George had done.

"You don't have to speak for us, Father," said Fred, grinning at George.

"No, we can tell everyone about what we've done for Mrs Frobisher." At her son's words Molly Weasley's eyes narrowed and Mr Weasley rolled his eyes.

"Every newspaper every day for a year," said Fred.

"Mrs Frobisher's own illustrations."

"To keep up morale."

"And what does that mean?" asked an accusative Mrs Weasley. Arthur Weasley looked at her guiltily.

"Never mind, Molly, I'll tell you later."

"Well, thank you Fred, George," said Minerva McGonagall, "for your totally enlightening explanation. Now," she continued, happy to move on quickly, "…so…we need to discuss the timescale in which we must act. We know that Voldermort is likely to attack the Ministry."

"What time do we have, Minerva?" asked Sturgis, a worried expression on his face.

"Very little. Snape is very close to Harry's potion and we have kept ministry involvement to a minimum."

"Any chance of Cecilia coming back from wherever she is?" asked Tonks, who had noticed the absence of Remus Lupin.

"She is not safe, from neither the ministry nor the enemy. Rest assured she is somewhere where she can continue the work she has volunteered to do as well as keep the rest of the information safe." Dumbledore's words, thought Minerva. It had calmed the Order well enough, by the nodding and smiling in front of her, but that didn't mean it would work for long. Sooner or later he, or perhaps she, must come up with something firm.

"Don't forget," Minerva continued, "the ministry still seeks the Universal Link and although Miss Penwright is working through the information she has been allowed access to," here she raised her eyebrows at Sturgis, "she has a long way to go and plenty of red herrings to uncover."

"So you have her under close watch?" asked Sirius Black, his voice low and clear.

"I have, as does Dolores Umbridge. Her interference at Hogwarts has been orchestrated entirely by Dumbledore. He believes in creating situations where people believe they have done the thinking for themselves."

The Order began to talk at low volume to the people around them. Minerva exhaled. It was a good sign and the buzz around the room felt positive. She spotted a hand raised like a lone tree on a moor.

"Yes, Bathsheba?"

"The ministry is getting very strict, Minerva. I don't like these muggle and squib legislations they have brought in. What happened to their stance before?"

"They have to blame it on someone, so it might as well be muggles," said Sturgis Podmore, darkly. "It rains in the summer, it's muggles. Someone stubs their toe, it's muggles. Just now, the difference is that the Ministry had to explain away a large event which they can't admit was V- V-…You-Know-Who so it might as well be muggles who launched their power-hungry return outside Hogwarts castle on Saturday 24th February! It's exactly what the Death Eaters and V –

_You-Know-Who_ want, getting the law changed and the Ministry involved to their own ends. Makes what they're saying more legitimate." Minerva nodded. She couldn't have put it better herself.

"Thank you, Sturgis. I echo this…it is true to say extremists begin in government, Joseph Black, for example." She heard a grunt coming from the vicinity of Sirius.

"My family getting the blame again," he muttered, folding his arms as he got to his feet. Minerva watched him go as the rest of the meeting fell into disarray. The whole room became glum because there was no clear goal…no success that had been achieved. Even Molly Weasley's sandwiches were tired and drab.

As the witches and wizards of the Order left Grimmauld Place in dribs and drabs half an hour later one happy thought crossed the McGonagall's mind. Dumbledore would never ask her to chair a meeting again.

88888888

Minerva McGonagall was actually wrong in her assertion that all but one wizard from the Order, excluding Dumbledore, was absent from the Order meeting. Severus Snape was also absent and pursuing work that would, he believed, would verify the efficacy of Harry Potter's potion once and for all. He was not at Hogwarts, no was he anywhere in the vicinity of Surrey (more specifically, Little Whinging).

Indeed, he was as far west of Cumbria as he could get without taking a swim in the Irish sea, though that had only been down to luck. Half an hour ago and the brilliant lights of Calder Hall Power Station at Sellafield shone out around him and Snape had used the spell "Homenum Revelio" to discern the presence of muggles around the place. He had done quite well, having located the bioanalytical department within one of the buildings and had only had to "Oblivate" seven muggles in the process.

Nick Smith had not been expecting his visit but he had to give the muggle credit for his recognition of him. He had met him almost a year before, when he had dropped off some glassware and equipment at Cecilia Frobisher's house. Clearly Tonks, in her state of disorientation (she had failed to bring even one of the traces with her two nights before and could not recall what her husband had said about them) had forgotten to mention his arrival.

It had taken only a few moments for Nick Smith to come to terms with Snape's presence there and was fully aware of the implications of the DNA analysis, muttering as he worked about how he would have been able to analyse these using these facilities in a tenth of the time it had taken Cecilia Frobisher to do so using basic lab equipment in the past.

"But she is determined, Mr Snape," continued Nick as he prepared each of the samples that Snape had requested to be analysed swiftly and with ease. Snape watched him carefully. For it had taken him a good three months to acquire the samples he needed.

"Of course, I can just print you off a copy of the samples I did for Tracy," said Nick Smith, waving his hand in the air. "Is that an "L" or an "e"?"

"An L," replied Snape stiffly. He looked at the samples again. He was already in possession of the traces that Tra – Tonks had requested her husband to analyse, namely her own and two of her father at different ages. The others Nick had laid out on the bench carefully and he was beginning to add a small portion of each to long, thin tubes troubling to label each one with the initials which Snape had ensured he had labelled accurately. He nodded approvingly. The was no room for error.

…Petunia Dursley…Dudley Dursley…Neville Longbottom…Hermione Granger…Andromeda Tonks…Tabitha Penwright…Remus Lupin (non-lupine form)…Remus Lupin (werewolf form)…

"So, Tracy tells me you used to be her teacher?

…the Dursleys' of course he had received in his first letter…he had purloined a handful of Longbottom's hair when the boy was carrying out his usual mistakes during potions. He hadn't thought of it before however the boy's ineptitude was so similar to that of Penwright that it was too much of a coincidence to ignore…Hermione Granger's was easy too…some of hers was caught in a cupboard door during the trial potions examination….he hadn't planned on analysing hers however he wished to verify Sturgis's trace with another muggle-born…Cecilia Frobisher…he had hers from a visit to Lupin's cottage…Tonks had given hers willingly, as she had done with her father's samples, taken both when he was younger and in the present day…at least she had remembered something to tell him two nights' ago and he had been given their traces willingly by Smith…Snape looked at Nick Smith sharply, aware that the muggle had spoken to him.

"Indeed," intoned Snape. Nick smiled and opened up the DNA traces that he had already carried out. Snape looked at him suspiciously.

"From what I can see there is something extra on Tracy's dad's trace," said Nick. Snape took a few steps towards him, continuing to stare at him. Eventually he looked at the trace. The band, which Cecilia had already christened "W" was there, clearly and plainly on the trace.

"Interesting," he murmured.

"Isn't it just?" said Nick enthusiastically. "That trace," he pointed to the one with the extra line on it, "was from a sample that Tracy gave me when her dad was thirteen. The other one," he pointed to a trace adjacent to the first, "was from two weeks ago. No line here," he added unnecessarily. Snape gave him a withering look.

"And this one?" He watched Nick blush as he pulled it from under the second one.

"Tracy's," said Nick. "It's got a band, just like her father's."

"Touching." Snape picked up the two traces that belonged to Ted Tonks and held them up to the light before turning his head and looking at Nick Smith. "Mr Smith, do you think you could explain how this comes to be?" Nick grinned and folded his arms.

"Of course. It's quite simple: there's an underlying genetic inheritance which seems to be passed on in a non-Mendelian manner. It doesn't seem to be determined through the Darwinian scheme of evolution for a start, there seems to be something quite random about everything. I've only ever seen this once, and that was in a creature that lived many millions of years ago."

"Which was?"

"The rhodyctosaurus. It was a dinosaur that lived during the Triassic age. Little is known about it and only three living samples have ever been found. A random genetic pattern was found within these samples and biochemists suggested that it was as if the dinosaur had stopped evolving…and yet…" He leaned over Snape's shoulder to peer at the traces again.

"…it seems perfectly possible to be caused by a manipulation of the DNA itself. If that were so though, it would be perfectly possible, were someone to have this extra gene, to give the gift of magic to a non-wizard."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Mr Smith," said Snape, nodding in Nick's direction. "Do you think it is also possible for a wizard to be made into a muggle – that is to say, a non-wizard? Could that happen?"

"Certainly, certainly…if the wizard were able to control what changes him then he certainly could. This would indeed be interesting, and possibly the first case of self-selecting genes being controlled in the organism itself, rather than its offspring, through evolutionary principles…" Nick looked across at the instrument which was, at the moment, churning out the results from the hair samples that biochemist Nick Smith had programmed it with. "If only I had time to study this fascinating subject…" he handed three of the traces from the samples that had just been analysed to Snape.

"The traces," he said needlessly before turning to collect the rest of them.

"I was under the impression the analysis would take much longer," said Snape, looking at the results carefully.

"The system we've got here…wow…it's far better than the last place, and much quicker. No, they're all done, Mr. Snape."

"Thank you. Now, it would be a good idea to make a copy for your wife," said Snape as he sandwiched the traces between his robe and clothing. "She'll be grateful for them for reference." He waited until the second print-outs had arrived and Nick had turned back to look at him as he flourished his wand.

"Oblivate!"

A crackle of blue-green light erupted from the end of Snape's wand and he held it next to Nick's head. In the opposite direction a stream of bright white light

Nick Smith blinked and looked around him, before looking at Snape. He narrowed his eyes.

"Er, Mr…" Nick shook his head in obvious confusion. "Excuse me…can I help you?"

"I'm just on my way out," growled Snape, gesturing towards the door. "You have been most kind in your efforts, and we are grateful." In a daze the head of biochemistry at Calder Hall watched the tall man in a black coat stride towards the door.

"You are…? Well…" he shook his head again, as his memory was stuck to the inside of his mind and he had to dislodge it. "Well…you're welcome!"

88888888

It had been a rather good day, all in all. The conversation in Mr. Dursley's people carrier was polite and friendly and the children who had accompanied Dudley had been pleasant, or as pleasant as a couple of teenagers can be. They seemed grateful and they seemed to have enjoyed the visit.

It was now around half past five and Cecilia was beginning to feel inexplicably tired. It wasn't even as if she had risen particularly early and she had rested most of the day before at Petunia Dursley's insistence but she was having to fight drowsiness as the rhythm of the car beguiled her into slumber. Soon it would be teatime, she reminded herself and Mrs Dursley had planned for the children to stay before Mr. Dursley drove both Elrick and Chree back to Smeltings.

She had found it strange to see Dudley's school; they had gone there to pick his friends up before driving into London and Cecilia had imagined what it would be like teaching there again, where young, magicless children learned about history and art and science…

…as they travelled Cecilia actually began to feel quite relaxed, she had calmed down since her dream in the early hours of the morning before and as they neared the capital she was actually looking forward to being at home again with Remus. Now Snape had the information he needed she would soon be back with him. Her heart glowed…he would be free of lycanthropy…

Cecilia hadn't wanted to come but had been enticed into the trip by Mrs Dursley who told her of some of the exhibits that were only there for a short time. She hadn't felt well and she'd told Petunia this but the woman had insisted that the fresh air would do her good. As they travelled Cecilia had felt sick but the feeling had soon passed when she focused her mind on the swiftly passing countryside.

As they got out of the car in the Natural History Museum's underground carparkDudley had complained loudly to his parents about Cecilia coming with them. Mr Dursley had announced that, as a person of academia, he expected Cecilia to come along with them. She had wanted to protest but saw Mr. Dursley's expression and moved away quickly when he looked as if he was going to give her an encouraging hug.

Cecilia had never been to the museum before. Thousands of exhibits were laid out over five floors and a basement on subjects such as geology, dinosaurs, hunter-gatherers of the world, butterfly and moth collections. There must have been enough to keep a person busy for a year. She wished she could relax but with Vernon Dursley finding a flimsy reason for questioning her on the science of it she was on edge, relaxing only when Mrs Dursley had ordered him to go and find Dudley and Cecilia had made her excuses to find another part of the building to look at. Petunia had looked grateful and it made Cecilia feel sorry for her.

But she was glad to have some time to herself and she sat in the "Room of Chemical History" for almost an hour feeling right at home and almost as happy. And then something had caught her eye on one of the exhibits…a photograph of a wolf which, the caption claimed, had been killed when the photographer had taken the snap…and the picture (so said the tiny writing at the bottom) had been developed using…silver nitrate…

Some reassurance that her theory might be correct, Cecilia had thought and she had scribbled down the information in its entirety on the back of a stamp book which she had found in her pocket with a pen borrowed from the security guard just in time before the Dursley family swept through, catching her in their wake on the way to the ancient Egypt section.

Sipping at a cup of tea as Mrs Dursley fussed over the children, Mr Dursley bragged about what he knew and the teenagers muttered to themselves quietly Cecilia daydreamed about her discovery and what it might mean about the lycanthropy cure. Silver nitrate…lunar caustic…a polar liquid which, under the influence of the moon would be enough to affect the parasites in Remus's blood. As Mr Dursley proceeded to ask her about fossil remains Cecilia's mind drifted to the back of the stamp book on which she had written down everything that the exhibit's card had listed it confirmed the information that Petunia had sent to Dumbledore for Snape to have…to create Remus's potion…

Now, as they got to the outskirts of Little Whinging pure honeyed happiness coursed through Cecilia as she recalled what had happened that afternoon. She had seen it on the back of "The Sentinel" and had to take care that she didn't shout it across the entire museum foyer…

…Cecilia had picked up the paper as the headline caught her eye before looking on the back to see how Villa were doing…noticed the cartoon strip…noticed that it was the same as the one she had stared at looked like her drawing, her heart over the moon as she saw it…someone must have had it and got it into the paper…her drawing…

"That's our house, over there." Cecilia's thoughts were interrupted by Dudley loudly proclaiming the fact to his friends. "The detached one, the one with the satellite dish and double garage."

Outside Number 4 everybody bundled out and Dudley immediately hurried upstairs to show Elrick and Chree his computer games. Cecilia remained in the living room as a hushed argument began to ensue in the kitchen, presumably as Petunia was preparing tea. She could hear snippets of it and thought she heard her name mentioned as well as Mr Dursley's complaint of there not being what he wanted on the table and how he had missed the chance to close a deal by her making him take the day off.

It didn't last long however and before it got too awkward Petunia Dursley had thrown open the hall door and was shouting the teenagers down for their tea. A few moments later they were down and Mrs Dursley was ushering Cecilia into the dining room, serving her with bacon scones and tea. Ten minutes into the tea and disturbing a rather lame joke about a duck the doorbell rang and accompanying it, a knock.

"Get that Dudley, will you?"

"Daz!"

From the kitchen Mrs Dursley looked down the hall and Mr. Dursley got to his feet and lolloped towards his son. From the hallway they heard Vernon Dursley encourage his son to bring his friend inside.

"Mrs Dursley was expecting you to come with us to London," Mr Dursley boomed as the front door clicked shut."

Cecilia felt the colour drain from her face. In the uterine sanctuary that was 4, Privet Drive stood Draco Malfoy. She could see that her presence there was of no surprise but it wasn't until Mrs Dursley placed a hand on her arm that she broke eye contact with the young Slytherin. Under Petunia's touch she felt herself shaking.

"You are not well," said Mrs Dursley firmly, her voice staccatoed and flat. "Come, let me take you upstairs. It's been a tiring day and you need your rest." She got to her feet and lifted Cecilia up by the elbow. Leading her by the elbow Mrs Dursley led her into the hall and closed the door to the kitchen.

"Is he a…?" Cecilia nodded quickly.

"Come, my dear. I'll get rid of him. Then we can contact – "

But whoever Petunia Dursley was planning to contact Cecilia never found out for at that moment a great hammering came at the door. Mrs Dursley led Cecilia onto the stairs and she pressed her back against the wall as Petunia opened the door.

"We want to speak to Mrs Frobisher." Cecilia could see nothing through the gap, but the voice sounded strange, a little high pitched and as if the owner liked to hear their own voice.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs Dursley, a loss to the acting profession, "there is no Mrs Frobisher here."

"The teacher," clarified the voice. "We have come to collect her."

"I'm afraid she is not here. She left three days ago." Cecilia saw Petunia frown in accustomed annoyance. "Before she had finished her tutoring too…I'm considering writing to her agency!"

Cecilia exhaled. There was no way that whoever was at the door could find her now…

…and then, things began to happen all at once…

…from the living room Draco Malfoy rushed into the hallway and out into Privet Drive, giving Cecilia a glance as he pushed past Petunia Dursley, who screamed and tried to slam closed her front door. Dudley and Vernon Dursley hurried into the hall and Mr Dursley pulled his wife back into the kitchen as his son took a few steps towards the door but it blew back open and Malfoy was replaced with what looked like a greyish wind that made both of them recoil…

"…the muggle's inside!" Cecilia froze as she heard Malfoy's treacherous words as the greyish wind chased out Dudley and Vernon Dursley. Behind them Petunia and then Cecilia…

When she saw what was out there Cecilia felt her mouth fall open. The Drive was filled with wizards clearly from the ministry as they were wearing their blue official bands. In front of the house stood a small group of officious-looking wizards who were in a huddle around Malfoy, who was chattering to them and pointing towards the Dursleys' house.

Towards them other wizard were hurrying, some yelling and shouting, others running towards the central core. Cecilia looked, panicky, at them but before she could do anything images flashed across her mind, like blips on an old film at first before becoming more prolonged…

…when she was in her first teaching job and Dinah, a woman who hated her, insulted her in front of students…

…in the scene in front of her there were others, people calling her name…in the centre of the throng Draco Malfoy, pointing at her and gabbling loudly to a witch in beige clothing…there seemed to be a lot of confusion…and a lot of wands pointed at her…

Cecilia realised she was standing rooted to the spot when Petunia Dursley shook her arm and tried to pull her indoors. Instead, another image, one that was borne of reality appeared before her. Screaming, Petunia allowed her husband to pull her and Dudley back inside the house.

"Mrs Frobisher! I came as soon as I coul'." Mundungus Fletcher looked at her sheepishly before glancing at the raised wands.

"Mrs Frobisher!" Another witch called her name. She recognised the woman to be Arabella Figg, the squib from the Order, who descended upon Mundungus murderously. But Cecilia didn't seem to notice as another vision appeared in her mind…

…she was in Edgeford Town…a woman was standing alone…Mad Olive…she usually said hello to Mad Olive…her mum insisted…today…big boys, with skinheads and piercings were teasing her, spitting at her…kicking her…she ran away…she was scared…

Cecilia looked around the Drive trying to take in as much information as she could… what they were all doing there, all in a circle, looking at something…? Then she realised, with quickening heart that there was something there, something between her and the wizards. It looked like a charcoal black rain-cloud, dense and thick…and they were watching her…

"Run girl, run!" Arabella Figg's voice echoed around Privet Drive as Fletcher waved his hand frantically in the direction of…

…at the appearance of the apparition she watched others shrink back and, without any dignity at all, ran, ignoring the noise and hubbub behind them. She soon realised why…the undefined mass started to form into a shape, long and thin, hooded and ghoulish…

Cecilia ran.

Past the brick houses and around the corner, into Sedgeley Green. Before her was the park and open fields, and beyond…civilisation…where things like _that_ didn't happen…

…she could hear voices in her head, mocking and contemptuous…

…failure…wicked girl…coward…

…and further she ran, around the corner and into the park, where the set of swings, seesaw and slide looked comforting and welcoming…

…Cecilia knew these grisly spectres were behind her…worse still, they were gaining…

…she saw another image flick across her mind of when she was twelve and the pink lipstick she had in her pocket that she had stolen from a shop…_thief_, the voices mocked…shameful…

"Dementors! Mrs Frobisher!"

That was her name…who was shouting it…?

The urge to find out was neutralised by the words in her head, reminding her how useless and pathetic she was and misery and depression settled on Cecilia like an icy shroud…

…NO…! With all her will and might, Cecilia turned…

…behind the her she saw the woman…someone she recognised…she was calling Cecilia…and then she saw the ghastliness of the dementor…Arabella Figg raised her arms as if to cast a spell…

…you can't, a tiny voice in Cecilia's mind was shouting…_you_ can't…Mrs Figg was carrying a wand…the spell that came from it bounced off the dementor which did nothing to it except parted some of its smokiness from its firmer form…it turned to register it…something wasn't right…Cecilia stumbled onto the grassy ground…something…what…? Why…?

…over her the world became a charcoal-black…the dementor which had chased her before was now right in front of her, hovering like a macabre rain-cloud, threatening to unleash its contents in a heartbeat…

…and then the whole world erupted. Screams like she had never heard before pierced her hearing...they were her own…

"…get…away…! Get…" The last word was sucked from her, a pressure differential that was robbing her of air…the dementor descended down upon her…

…get away…

…and then, just before the world around her began to fold sepia-like around her…before the world slipped away from her and into oblivion…she saw…a witch she knew…

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A/N: So…whatcha think? Please review!


	20. End of the Line

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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Cecilia Jane Frobisher, neé Wells. 8th October 1967 – 16th June 1997. Desouled. Rest in Peace.

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	21. And Now We Dance

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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"Wow! Did you really?"

"Were they dreadful and terrible?"

"Were they stupid and moronic?"

Not really.

He thought about his brainless social group who had remained at school when he had been out doing his bit. How would they have coped with hours being stuck in a classroom pretending to learn? With risking being caught finding out about science? With witnessing the horror of a Dementor's kiss on a muggle, which he had done?

In the darkness that was the Slytherin common room Draco Malfoy sat alone. It was unusual for him to do that as he was usually followed by several other students hanging on his every word. This had happened for about ten minutes or so before they realised Draco wasn't giving them the answers they were expecting.

Tonight then, was different. Tonight he should have been at his father's home with the science information ready to reinstall glory to the family name. That had been his plan and he had been so close to it all turning out differently.

Instead he had read the last bit of science written on lined paper by Dudley Dursley's home tutor and recognised the handwriting. In the darkness the student wizard clenched his fists. Why had he decided to go to Dudley's home and confront her? Why had he told the Ministry? Had he really thought that they were just going to arrest the muggle when they received his information?

Draco shook his head. His father wouldn't have done that. His father felt he could run the ministry but Draco had decided long ago that there were far greater benefits by co-operating.

But he had underestimated the ministry. He had thought that he would be able to sneak back to Hogwarts with the information he had discovered using the muggle money he had stolen. He hadn't banked on the ministry confiscating everything he had and escorting him back to school.

And it wasn't as if he had contacted the Ministry himself. When he had arrived in the street, not an hour after he had left Smeltings, they had been there too. He hadn't seen them at first and had strode up to the door of Number 4, where Dudley's father had driven him several days before to, ironically, learn science from his tutor.

He leaned back sharply in the large, black armchair and put his hands over his face and let the admission of responsibility cover him like a grey film. Before he had knocked on the door he had turned to see the crowd of wizards in the Drive's road. He had approached them and told them everything…he couldn't even seek consolation in the fact that they forced and cajoled him into telling them: it had been he who had been so determined to be different from his father and co-operating with the ministry which had done it.

He had gone inside and out she had come, visibly scared but with a look of determination that he had grown to revile. The same look as when she had been standing in his classroom teaching him about muggles. It had been that expression on her horribly plain face that had provoked Draco into action.

And then all hell broke loose. The surroundings had turned grey and cold as the Dementors had sought Mrs Frobisher and the Aurors next to Draco had whispered that they had been given their due orders to pursue. His head had filled up with terrible images, of bullying, of victimising, of the real monster that he was and before they could do anything to stop him Draco chased after the Dementors which were chasing after Mrs Frobisher. Even now he didn't know why he had done that.

At the edge of the muggle children's playground Draco knew that he couldn't reach Mrs Frobisher even if he had wanted to. Another wizard and a witch had torn past him towards her, the old witch withdrawing a wand and attempting to launch an attack on the lead Dementor, which had done laughably little to it.

Then Mrs Frobisher had fallen and the Dementors had fallen upon her, not with any weight, but like an invasive grey-black mass. He had watched as one of them had pulled back its hood revealing its putrid features…Draco shuddered as he recalled it…a mangled terrible image of this hideous face which had slowly descended down upon her. Mrs Frobisher had stuck out her arms as if to fend it off.

It was awful to watch while the pathetic muggle could do nothing about her fate…the Dementor had clamped its mouth onto hers and began to suck its throat pulsating as it extracted its quarry. It had been almost unbearable as she had slumped onto her back and, as the Dementor had retreated to be replaced by the sirens of muggle aurors and healers rushing to the scene, she had died. It had been too much and even he had rushed forward. But a wizard from the ministry had held him back as the witch who had unleashed the foul things had even held her head in her lap…they had wanted her alive, one of the aurors behind him had whispered but whatever had happened next Draco wasn't there to witness as he had been taken back to the Ministry by portable floo.

Springing to his feet in the darkness the ex. Darren Malloy began to pace about as he thought about how childishly they had treated him. He was nearly sixteen but the lead wizard who had taken him to an interview room had insisted on calling him a child to his colleagues and had reassured Draco in a patronising way that all the nastiness had gone away and that they wanted to ask him some questions in the safety of the ministry before they took him back to school.

His mind had still been filled with the ghastly self-inflicted images and visions as they had sat him down and given him a glass of pumpkin juice. There had been two of them together reassuring him that everything was going to be all right, a Kwik-Scribe quill to his left ready to take down everything he said.

So he had made up a lie to the ministry to explain his presence out of school and at Smeltings. His father, he had told them, had forced him to attend saying that he had to get used to the future with muggles in it. They had clearly believed him and had been talking about charges of child cruelty. It was then that a group of them, Professor Penwright with them, had taken the science books from him for security reasons and floo'd him back to Hogwarts.

He had failed. Failed to gain the science knowledge or even a copy of the information. He had failed the Death Eaters…Lord Voldermort…his father…

His father, the ministry had told him, would be questioned on the matter just as soon as he had been located and questioned about his role in the February uprising. Recalling the new Muggle Studies teacher saying this softly to him made Draco shudder.

He had to face it. His father would never speak to him again. He was on his own.

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""Freak Storm Causes Chaos in Little Whinging" by Sue Green, edited by John Stokes.

A freak storm hit the Newlands area of the town yesterday afternoon causing havoc on the roads and several injuries. At around five o'clock in the evening just as rush hour began a storm struck without warning causing collisions on the A30 and leaving some homes in the Newlands Estate without power.

Several people in the Church Street and Sedgeley Green area reported a freak change in the weather. "I was walking my dog," said a local resident, Mr. Andrew Cooper of Green Lane, "when the sky turned black and all around became grey and icy. Buttons, my dog panicked and ran off the lead. I've never felt anything like it." Mr. Cooper's dog returned home later that afternoon.

Three collisions took place just off the A30 when visibility became poor very suddenly with a van ploughing into a vegetable awning on the High Street and colliding into a glass-fronted shop. Several passers-by who had taken shelter in a nearby bus top were injured by flying debris and the Whinging emergency services were called to deal with scores of calls for help.

During the disturbance a woman was violently attacked on Church Street Park. The woman, thought to be in her early thirties was found unconscious by several witnesses to the attack although firm details of the crime have yet to be ascertained.

A police spokesman said: "This was a particularly callous attack on a young woman and we would like anyone who can identify the person or persons involved or who saw the assailant in the area to give us the information that will help us find them." The injured woman was taken to Greater Whinging General Hospital where she remains in critically ill and in a coma.

Local meteorologist Frank Odell who was walking into town saw the storm bear down on the Newlands estate and told the "Gazette" that it was a rare localised tornado, a type that appears in urban areas and can cause high levels of damage. Mr. Odell, who has reported for the "Little Whinging Gazette for almost fifteen years said that following the tornado high winds may continue for up to forty eight hours and he is advising people not to use their car unless they have to."

Vernon Dursley shook the local paper closed and massaged his temples. He had a vague feeling that he, Petunia and Dudley had also witnessed the chaotic weather event…that they had been there. He reached for the telephone. They could all become famous, and be quoted in the newspaper. What did Andrew Cooper have that he had been quoted that they did not?

And then he put down the phone. Quite what he was going to say had totally left him to the extent of actually being able put together any meaningful sentences. Mr. Dursley shook his head and looked to his right as his wife brought him in a nice cup of tea.

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Harry Potter sat in the Owlery. He wondered why so many people had overlooked it as a place of sanctuary. Despite the ammoniacal smell and guano it was actually quite was peaceful there.

Looking back at the castle, its many windows aglow with light he was happy not to be there any longer. He couldn't have stood it there a moment longer: the Ministry had arrived the night before and were still there, causing chaos and terror at every turn. It hadn't been until the early hours of the morning that Harry had realised they had arrived when he almost bumped into Kingsley Shacklebolt who was keeping watch on the Fat Lady's corridor. Had it not been for his attention being called towards the Gryffindor tower where, it appeared, another student had been discovered out of bed Harry would not have made it. And he wouldn't have been greeted by an anxious Ron who had apparently been awaiting his return in the common room.

Harry looked down at the landscape below him. It was empty of any shape or form: a few owls, who were returning from long-distance deliveries, were the sole representatives of life in the vicinity, unlike the evening before when indistinguishable figures made their way across the landscape. He remembered watching them, watching as they strode across the ground effortlessly, across the landscape, over the edgestones and into the castle grounds.

He knew now that it must have been the ministry with Malfoy in tow, returning from whatever scheme he had been caught being involved himself in. And the extent to which the ministry was to be involved with his destiny became apparent as his friend spoke to him early that morning.

First of all Harry's reaction had been to laugh at such a preposterous story. Ron was making it up, Harry knew, to cover up the real reason the ministry at Hogwarts. When his friend's face didn't crack into its characteristic grin and he didn't pat Harry hard on the back and congratulate him for not falling for it he had stopped, trying to take it in.

Mrs Frobisher was dead. Mrs Frobisher had been killed by Dementors.

He had asked Ron to leave him alone, and he would come to bed when it had sunk in.

The moon, almost full in its luminosity, shone gloriously down onto the nightscape. It had been a night such as this, almost exactly the same as this in fact, when he and Hermione had sought his godfather. It was at a time when Sirius Black had been known to him as Sirius Black the murderer of his parents and, had not the events been different he would have been quite happy to witness the demise of this evil wizard. He had gone to the library and sought information on Dementors and what the Dementors kiss was like so he had known what to expect.

It was something that Harry now regretted as the terrible, painful event had been replaying in his mind for almost a day with not Sirius as the target but his ex-Muggle Studies teacher. He hated to think that Cecilia Frobisher, after everything she had done, after all she had given to him, and to Dumbledore, and to Lupin and to the entire wizard world would have died in such agony.

And when he had awoken that morning Harry had tried deny it, or at least seek some solace and comfort in the presence of his headmaster. Dumbledore would tell him that it was untrue or at least that she had died in peace but his hasty advance had been interrupted by his head of house who had not only been to-the-point in her confirmation but had told Harry that Dumbledore was otherwise engaged

Of course, Harry had thought as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, other people would have to be told…the Order…Snape…_Lupin_…

The school's doleful bell tolled three. Harry got to his feet and looked out onto the darkened landscape again. How could all this be happening and still the world of school be proceeding as if nothing had happened? In a few hours time it would be the end of the school year, and save for a handful of OWLs, his time would be at an end. In less than twenty four a celebratory ball would be held, extended for the first time to the entire school. He would have to be there, and of course Ron would be there too, with Hermione.

Somehow there didn't seem much to celebrate.

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This copy of the Daily Prophet for 17th June 1997 had been passed around more times than an illicit "Mayfair" magazine at a scout camp. Quite how it had made its way into the school at all was anybody's guess: the school's mail had been limited and scrutinised by an army of ministry officials and aurors looking for anything from Voldermort himself, the lost Coronet of Eritrea (which, if they had thought to ask amongst themselves they could easily have ascertained that it lay in the Department of Mysteries) or Shergar. Because of its unlawful status it provoked the most interest of all.

"Shergar," repeated said Seamus Finnigan, sitting as he was on a settee in the Gryffindor common room with its back to the portrait hole, as he unfolded the Daily Prophet again. Dean Thomas looked automatically over his shoulder. He needn't have bothered. Most of the school was out preparing for the summer ball that was going to be taking place that evening.

"He was a racehorse, almost fifteen ago. Won any race he was put into. And then he disappeared from his stables and hasn't been heard of since." He looked at Dean and Parvati Patil who had also discovered that Seamus had a copy of the Daily Prophet and shook his head despairingly.

"They're trying to track down something that Mrs Frobisher did when she was here," said Parvati, pointing to the newspaper. "It says here she had uncovered a hidden connection between wizards and muggles. "The Universal Link"."

Both boys were now clamouring to read the part of the article which had mentioned this and were halfway through it when Parvati gasped and put her hand to her face. They looked at her and waited for her to explain her outburst.

"…the brave victim was the muggle Cecilia Frobisher, none other than the person declared by the Ministry for Magic six weeks ago as Wizard Enemy Number One. Quite what this muggle had done to offend the Ministry their spokesman would not reveal but it is the Prophet's belief that when the ministry set dementor on her, her death has been henceforth revealed that she had been working in the employ of Albus Dumbledore to uncover the Universal Link, the legendary connection between muggles and wizards…"

"Legendary connection?" repeated Dean sceptically. "Have you ever heard of it?" Parvati and Seamus shook their heads.

"So the ministry found out about her and thought she was a risk to security and hunted her down," continued Dean. "Poor Mrs Frobisher." He glanced at the newspaper again. "Funny how the "Prophet" is against what the ministry did," he added.

"Or the ministry are trying to cover up the fact that they were wrong," replied Seamus, who looked down at the sentence to which Parvati was pointing. Dean craned his neck too.

""…this has been a tragic loss to both worlds," commented Fudge last night." Parvati pointed to the words. ""Had her whereabouts been know to us we could have used her knowledge to help all of the wizard world." The Daily Prophet would like to salute the muggle for all the work she did for our community. Cecilia Jane Frobisher, neé Wells. 8th October 1967 – 16th June 1997. Desouled. Rest in Peace.""

"That definitely sounds like a cover-up to me," said Seamus, folding his arms firmly. "I – "

"Sh!" Whispered Dean sharply as the door to the Fat Lady's portrait opened from the outside and Seamus folded the paper, with its animation of a swooping dementor and stowed it inside his robe.

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Hermione's first response when she had heard the news of Cecilia Frobisher's death was to say nothing. She had nodded and smiled at Ginny who was herself in tears and, instead of confronting her own shock had comforted the younger girl who had been told the news by her brother.

It was that bottled up anger which had led her to be where she was now, carrying out direct action by re-entering the bedroom of Professor Snape. It was late in the afternoon and she had stolen her friend's invisibility cloak again. Not for her spending time aloft in the Gryffindor tower, especially with ministerial aurors and wizards around. It was only by luck that it had been Kingsley Shacklebolt who had found her and, despite a good telling off for being out of bed after hours had shooed her back to her common room. This time she was marching in the direction of the teachers' quarters, to the room of her Potions teacher who was, Hermione knew, organising the ball below in the Great Hall.

What she hoped to find there was anyone's guess but she removed Mrs Frobisher's notebooks from underneath the drawers of the desk and, sitting in the darkened room under the cloak, began reading the information contained therein. Hermione could barely believe that less than four months before Mrs Frobisher had been there amongst them, teaching them and writing these notes which would one day form the part of a potion which would defeat You Know Who.

She read all the information that lay in the cavity under the bottom drawer: the notebooks and hastily sheaved pieces of paper; the letters and notes stopping at one in particular which had taken her aback and she read a letter from Cecilia Frobisher telling of her idea to cure lycanthropy. Some of it was complicated and she had trouble getting to grips with the Science to such an extent that she could barely understand it fully. One thing she did understand though: how were werewolves connected with the Universal Link?

And then all at once Hermione's emotions burst forth and she held the letter close to her chest, crumpling it uncaringly. If she could wish for anything at that moment she would have wished for Mrs Frobisher to be there, to be down in the Muggle Studies room where she could talk to her, or discuss science with her. For her to be here doing _anything_ rather than out there having been killed.

Hermione did not know how long she stayed there, sitting on the floor of Snape's bedroom and reading Mrs Frobisher's notebooks. Time passed during which point the occupier of the room could well have returned to discovered her.

At length Hermione continued to read through the information and became startled and surprised by the what else had she found therein. According to one source Lupin loved Lily Potter, who was at that time Lily Evans. One of Mrs Frobisher's well explained letters to Snape said Lily had been his first true love who helped him more than the Marauders and Hermione felt compelled to make notes about lycanthropy and the fantastic cure which Mrs Frobisher had purported to have proposed. Was she really able o cure him? _Would she have been?_

"Reproducto!"

Information which Hermione oughtn't to have in her possession was copied and stowed away in her pocket and her mind drifted to that evening and at the same time to the last ball she had been to. Hermione wondered whether Ron had decided to get anything different to wear: she hadn't and intended to wear the same dress she had worn at Christmas, with the same jewellery. But that would be the only things that were the same. Ron was now supposedly her boyfriend but he wasn't acting like it. At Christmas she hadn't been petrified about her parents and her other world, her muggle world. She had been excited then…thrilled with fascination and wonder. Now all she felt was misery and cynicism.

Eventually Hermione got up and made her way back resignedly to the Gryffindor common room.

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"Look," he heard Professor Penwright say to Professor Snape. "This information here, I need your opinion on it."

From his vantage point underneath the stairs adjacent the Great Hall Harry had come to rest having followed their Muggle Studies teacher from the classroom. It was quite by chance that at this late on in the day she would be there and also in the company of another witch from the ministry. He had to swiftly put on hold his idea to locate the information she had and subvert the ministry's information when he realised the room in which the books were located was occupied but, far from being a waste of time Harry had overheard vital information about what the ministry knew or rather, what it didn't know.

What it didn't know was what science was. Penwright had what looked to be an exercise book from a school but didn't understand it…neither did she understand "Mysterious Mythology", a copy which Harry had hitherto ascertained was not _the _most important as its page borders were blank.

Not that it mattered now. All that mattered was whether Snape had enough information to complete his potion effectively for him to carry out Dumbledore's plan, whatever that might be. He didn't even care whether it was dangerous…he would take the risk after all of this.

Once his teachers had parted company, with Snape dismissing Tabitha Penwright abruptly, Harry made his way back to the common room. He didn't want to go to the ball this evening…what would be the point? To get dressed up and have a good time? And despite what Ron had been saying to him it was pound to a penny that he and Hermione would be going together.

What he really wanted to do, Harry thought as he picked up "Humbert's Advanced Herbology" for some last-minute revision, was speak to Sirius. Even though he had been told by his godfather to work it out for himself and do it alone he still missed speaking to him. Sitting on one of the settees near the window Harry opened the Herbology book to chapter eight where Humbert began to detail the nutrient uptake of plants and how little imps inside the roots of the plant spent all day taking them up to where they were needed.

He closed the book. Little imps in the plants! The process was called osmosis and was scientific, not magical. Mrs Frobisher had shown him that when he had challenged her on the very same point and had dissected a couple of magical plants to show him. Yet, if he didn't learn what he needed for the exams…

…and it wasn't as if his knowledge and understanding of science was going to be asked about in Muggle Studies either. Discarding the Herbology book Harry reached down for his book on muggles and flicked through the pages. He hadn't the heart for it, not when it all that seemed to be about identifying factors of muggles like: they can't do magic…they spend a lot of their time in metal things on wheels…they are stupid…

…that's not what muggles were, thought Harry closing his second book, that's what they did when they hadn't got magic. If you thought about the world in the way that Mrs Frobisher taught it you saw a lot of things differently…

Four o'clock. The ball would be starting at eight. Harry discarded the books and got to his feet, striding purposefully towards the back of the Fat Lady's picture. The Owlery would be free and he would be able to –

"Harry!" He paused in his gait, his heart sinking at the voice of his best friend. He took another step.

"Harry! Hold up!"

Slowly Harry turned and smiled at Ron. His friend waved back maniacally and raced towards him.

"Harry! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

"Around," he replied, trying not to sound too disheartened. "Trying to get my head round things, you know?" Ron looked at him blankly, clearly not knowing.

"Forget about that for a minute," Ron continued gesturing towards the Grand staircase. "Don't you know what's going on right now?" Harry shook his head.

"Sorting pairs," he concluded, nodding his head. Harry frowned. What on earth was that? Wizard snap?

"You know, with the Sorting Hat?" Harry shook his head and Ron exhaled, frustrated.

"Well," began Ron knowledgeably, grinning at his friend. "It's a bit like being sorted into houses, but the Sorting Hat chooses your most ideal date for the ball. You've not got a date yet, have you?" he added, catching Harry's uncertain expression and Harry shook his head.

"Then, come and have a try. I did and…" Ron trailed off as he saw Harry's face.

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

"Like…?"

"Well, Mrs Frobisher's dead, isn't she? You told me that." Harry sighed and fought the urge to fold his arms defensively.

"I know, Harry. But we still have to think about the ball and I need to think about Ginny. I reckon you could fool the hat into thinking you wanted to take her and I really don't want her to go with any old one! Think about what Cecilia would've wanted. Mrs Frobisher wouldn't want us to mope over her, would she? And besides we're celebrating no more exams!"

But that's all very well for you to say, Harry thought loudly to himself. It might be all over for you but I've still got real life to come. He shrugged and turned in the direction of the stairs.

"Harry?"

"Look Ron, I would have probably asked Ginny anyway, I don't need the sorting hat. Besides," he added tangentially, "how do you know what Mrs Frobisher would have wanted? She's dead now and no-one can ask her." Harry turned towards the stairs and made to go down them. Ron followed behind.

"Wow, you really would have asked Ginny?" Harry paused and turned, nodding to his friend.

"But I don't really want to go with anyone. I don't really want to go at all."

Twenty minutes later and both boys were sitting in the Owlery. The owl guano wasn't nearly as bad as it had been the night before and Harry suspected that Hagrid, with his desire for all things organic for his pumpkins, had had something to do with it.

"I just wish she could still be here," said Harry at length. "She was a brilliant teacher." Ron turned from his examination of the long-distance owls that were roosting in one corner and smiled at him.

And to his unspoken question Harry proceeded to tell Ron about the conversation he and Sirius had had, and the conclusion of it being that his godfather had pretty much told him to do it on his own.

"That's not like Sirius," said Ron nodding slowly. "He's always been there supporting you."

"Not this time," replied Harry slowly. "He – just wasn't the same. He was just…different," he finished lamely as he watched his friend's face cloud over. "What?"

Ron was about to open his mouth to say something to Harry but he was stopped before he began by a figure blocking the light in the doorway of the Owlery.

"…Hermione…!" managed Ron, looking between both Harry and his girlfriend. "Look, I – "

"It's OK Ron, I want Harry to know…"

"Know what?" Harry looked at Hermione sharply.

"It's OK," Hermione repeated, taking a few steps towards the boys before looking at Ron. "Do you mind if I told Harry myself? Only I want him to know," she repeated weakly. Ron Weasley nodded and got to his feet.

"I'll tell Ginny you want to take her?" Harry nodded and watched his friend pace out of the Owlery.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Ginny," said Hermione, looking at Harry carefully. "She's been pretty cut up about Mrs Frobisher. So have I. I think she feels guilty about what she used to say about her." Harry nodded slowly.

"Well?" asked Hermione when he didn't reply. Harry swallowed: he'd clearly missed something.

"You've been moping too," she added. Ah, thought Harry. She'd noticed that he'd been keeping himself to himself. He looked into Hermione's worried face and nodded solemnly.

"But not for the reason you think," he added, sighing heavily as he thought of Sirius's last conversation with him. He'd told Harry to fight alone and alone it was going to be.

"Harry," continued Hermione looking at him firmly. "You don't…you didn't have feelings for Mrs Frobisher, do you?" Harry returned her directness with an expression of bewilderment.

"What? No, of course not!"

"That's what Ron says, and – " Hermione looked at the floor.

" – and he's going out with you…" Harry finished, reaching out to hold her hand. Hermione nodded slowly.

"Look at this," she chided herself, smiling at her friend, "I was supposed to be coming here to talk to you." She put her other hand on Harry's. "So what have you been doing on your own that you couldn't share with us?"

"I need to find her," replied Harry softly. "Mrs Frobisher. I don't trust Snape." He felt Hermione shiver and she looked at him uncertainly.

"Harry. What do you mean you need to find her? Mrs Frobisher's – " Hermione shook her head.

"I know she's dead," said Harry, easing the pressure of her grief.

"You mean her body?" Hermione shook her head. "Either the muggle police will have her or the Ministry for Magic. What use is that?" This time it was Harry's turn to close his eyes.

"No. What I mean to say is I need to find _her_, what she was…get into her mind and work this out for myself." Hermione's eyes shimmered and she held Harry's hand tightly.

"There's something I need to tell you, and you won't like it Harry. Ron said it didn't make any difference but…but we can use it for the best." She sighed, gripping his hand again, her breath warm on Harry's face and he waited patiently for Hermione to say what she had clearly been concealing with some effort.

"It was me. I caused her to be found. I wrote to her to learn science. I wrote to her longer than I should, long after Dumbledore wanted us not to correspond. It was one of these letters that led the ministry to know she was at Lupin's cottage…Penwright told me…but we can use what she taught me to help you now." Hermione stopped, realising with a sinking feeling that Harry's expression had changed.

"And you think that's going to help?" Harry had dropped Hermione's hand and was on his feet. Crossing to the window he looked down onto the early summer's evening being played out before him: greenery, warmth and life. He imagined Mrs Frobisher in Lupin's cottage, helping Hermione in her quest to understand a part of her own self, every letter one step closer to her death.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was thin and reedy, penetrating Harry's thoughts like a discordant whisper.

"You wrote to her, and she got found out!" Harry spun round quickly and directed his anger at his friend. "She was working on the potion and you thought it'd be OK to use up he valuable time on science?! _I _could have taught you that!" His anger remained as he watched Hermione's head droop and tears spring to her eyes.

"She offered, and I took her up on it. How I to know the ministry was going to find out?" Hermione wiped a few tears from her cheek. "It wasn't deliberate, and she was who she was, Harry. She wasn't just there to finish off your potion, there was the W– "

"The W…?"

"The fact she was a muggle woman," said Hermione quickly as she wiped away a few more tears. "Of _course_ her background was going to affect her decisions and she chose to share science with me!"

"Well, you could have thought, that's all I'm saying. We can't do anything about it now and I've got to imagine what she would do. Perhaps if you'd have talked to me I wouldn't have felt left out of _you_ and _Ron_. I know plenty of science and I'm good at it. You could have asked me!"

Harry waited for Hermione to respond, anything to give away her guilt, which some small part wanted to hear her say aloud but instead Hermione held her face in her hands and turned towards the door of the Owlery, just missing a Snowy owl swooping in through the wrong entrance. She turned to look at Harry.

"I…you…well…that's what happened!" she shouted at him, screwing up her fists in frustration. "Don't tell me you've never made any mistakes as far as Mrs Frobisher's concerned!" And with that she strode through the Owlery door without looking back.

Harry knew Hermione too well and something wasn't quite right. He wanted to speak to Ron, but knew he would probably take Hermione's side. Was this what it was going to be like, if they stayed together always? Had he lost his friend for good?

"Look, don't speak to me for a while, OK?" he yelled in her direction. "I've got to think about this!"

Fifteen minutes' later and Hermione had reached the courtyard of the school. Around her bustling and busyness of students preparing for the impending ball and Padma Patil, next to her twin, waved to her. Head down, Hermione turned towards the large castle doors and hurried up the stairs before her, ignoring the calls of her name by Parvati. She continued past Kingsley Shacklebolt who, on the stairs, was astonished at her furious dash past, and called after her a greeting. Turning right Hermione ignored him and raced down the first floor corridor towards the Gryffindor common room and past the Fat Lady to the secret entrance to Gryffindor tower.

Once she had climbed to the top the young witch sat on the floor and pushed her hands through her hair in aggravation. Why was Harry being like that? She knew that he'd be upset, of course, but he didn't seem to realise the guilt she was already feeling. Her motives had been true – if only Harry had wanted her help. But from the conversation she had overheard between Ron and Harry as she'd followed her boyfriend to the Owlery she wasn't the only friend with whom Harry wasn't sharing confidences.

Hermione sighed and looked through the window. Soon she would have to go back to the common room and to her dorm and get ready. Somehow getting dressed in the same gown that she had worn at Christmas without the anticipation of having been asked by Ron and minus the excitement of speaking to Mrs Frobisher about her hopes and fears was leaving her a flat.

That was the other thing. Hermione shook her head hard making her hair fly about. Not that he'd been explicit but in a roundabout way he'd told her just now that he resented her and Ron's relationship.

Men. They were impossible!

Delving into her pocket as a means to divert her otherwise angry thoughts Hermione pulled out the information that she had copied from Snape's stash of Mrs Frobisher's notes and re-read it. He had to see. He had to hear her out. And she was going to the ball with Ron no matter how Harry felt and that was that. And, Hermione added, she was going in Mrs. Frobisher's name.

Turning her attention to a pertinent section in the document Hermione noticed something she hadn't spotted on her initial hasty scan through. It appeared from a two-line sentence at the end of the document that Lily Evans had approached Snape to ask him to help Remus. Hermione read through the passage again: the tone was in the first person, it seemed like a request from Lily directly to Snape and it occurred to the girl that she may have copied something that had not originally been Mrs Frobisher's.

"Why would Lily want Snape to help her with something?" asked Hermione aloud. "And what did she want?" After a third reading Hermione was still no further on with answering either of those questions but she read the fragment out aloud anyway.

"…it is with humblest gratitude that I ask this favour of an esteemed close friend. If you ever cared for me Severus you will do this one thing. It is not for me, Lily Evans, that I ask but it is for Remus Lupin…"

…it sounded like…had Snape once had feelings for Lily? "If you ever cared for me Severus…" Did Snape love Harry's mum?

It didn't matter now. As the school bell tolled six doleful chimes Hermione screwed up the whole document and threw it up into the air, inflaming it with a fireball as it reached the top of its trajectory. She would just forget all about it. It would make no difference. She didn't care.

She, Hermione Granger, would be leaving Hogwarts and returning to a muggle life as soon as she had her OWLS. She had learned from the work she had done that all she needed was the mindset and all of this, the wizard life, the people, the friends, the enemies…all of that would fade like a dream in the light of day.

Yes she loved Ron, but how could she live in both worlds when the ministry were treating her like that? No.

Hermione shook her head and got to her feet. There was only one way she could fight this and that was from the outside looking in. Descending the stairs she heard laughs of students getting ready and placed her hand on the handle that would lead her out to the dormitory landing.

But not until after the ball. The ball would be her farewell.

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Quite what "The Quibbler", a newspaper of sound reputation and utter rubbish had to say on the Dementor attack in Little Whinging was largely irrelevant although Xenophilius Lovegood was under no illusion as to what he believed had happened on 16th June and why.

Although the only copy in Hogwarts had been confiscated, read and then incinerated by his Phoenix Albus Dumbledore considered that perhaps, at long last, the editor of this off-the-wall weekly was too close to the mark for comfort. The usually unflappable headmaster of Hogwarts and head of the Order of the Phoenix had made a mental note to check all of his plans were firmly in place despite the likely source of the information being Lovegood's own mind and its inclusion being a fantastic coincidence.

Nevertheless, the only thing that was inaccurate was the inclusion of a dozen Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

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Tabitha Penwright returned her re-read letter that had arrived by owl- and then Dobby-post that had appeared on her desk early that Tuesday morning. This evening, in less than a couple of hours' time in fact a ball was going to be held and as such all lessons that were to be held had been cancelled. The letter was from her brother and she couldn't remember the last letter that she had received from him; it was likely that it had been when she had been at Hogwarts as a student although her mother had actively discouraged him from doing so. After the day she'd had yesterday, with the unpleasantness in the muggle world and the letting loose of the dementor though she needed to speak to someone.

Looking at her hearth Tabitha wondered whether he would be home from work by now. She hated flooing when Serina was alone with the children…it was very un-nerving trying to have a conversation with a screaming woman when all she wanted to do was speak to Robert. At the back of her hearing Tabitha registered the school bell tolling six and decided to chance it. If anything, after the week she had had and what she had done she could do with a laugh at her sister in law.

Five minutes' later and she was kneeling in front of her room hearth and in front of her was the intermittently-flicking head of her brother. Their conversation had been curious to say the least and not at all how Tabitha had expected it to go.

"What do you want to know this for?" Tabitha asked as she mulled over what Robert had just spoken about.

"Can't I be interested in my little sister?"

"You've never been interested before," pointed out Robert's little sister.

"Can't a brother change?" Tabitha smiled and wished she could believe it. Nevertheless she decided to indulge him and answered all the questions that he wanted to know, pausing as he wrote down everything he needed and so he could ask questions if he wanted.

"So what's happening in the world of non-magic?" Tabitha asked eventually when Robert's questions had dried up.

"Me? Oh well, on the whole. Trying to do a few deals here. They say that we're done to the dogs now we've lost the Tories…Jack thinks we'll be back in a recession by the end of the year. Man's got to do what a man's got to do," he added mysteriously. "Oh, and there seems to be something going on to do with your lot; mum had a letter warning us to be careful, from your ministry."

Suddenly there was a lack of conversation made so by neither sibling speaking for a good minute and Tabitha realised she was in a world of her own.

"Tell me about it, Tabs." Robert's sister looked at him sharply. "I won't understand it of course, but get it off your chest…"

And so Tabitha shared the selective highlights of her woes that had begun when she knew she was going to Hogwarts, Dumbledore's trial, Mysterious Mythology and what she'd found out at the school including Snape's refusal to discuss anything with her. She also told him of her involvement in the attempted capture and ultimate demise of Cecilia Frobisher.

"I have a very brave sister," said Robert, his voice comforting and making Tabitha feel less fraught and calmer. "I wish you were back with us. I often say that to mother. If you hadn't been born like – "

" – the wrong side of father's family," echoed Tabitha of her mother bitterly. Robert Penwright blinked into the fireplace and said nothing.

"I knew I had to speak to you, Tabs. I was going to write. I'm glad you contacted me with the flame thingy," Robert added.

"Floo."

"Flew. Is it your lot's doing about the change in government?" he asked, changing the subject swiftly. Tabitha shook her head.

They talked for another few moments before Robert made his excuses: Tabitha could just about hear the screams in the background from her sister-in-law. Once the fire had dimmed she got to her feet and walked over to the bed on which she sat and thought about the conversation that had gone on.

It had felt good chatting to him and Tabitha realised how rarely she had spoken to her brother since she had gone back into the wizard world all those years ago. It was lovely he was taking an interest but somehow…something wasn't right…

…but then it might have been her. She hadn't told him about Umbridge's snarling criticism of her competence over the Universal Link, the brunt of which she had borne about half an hour ago in front of several of the Hogwarts staff and about a dozen students.

And…she didn't know what to wear to ball went to her wardrobe. Beige. But at least she had a dress. Now the exams were nearly over she would be out of there. Tabitha brightened. Back to her mystery. With that in mind she felt much better.

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It was almost the end of the end of year ball. The effort to which the house elves had gone to create a veritable verdant garden had not been overlooked by many of the attendees and some had even managed a sneak preview and as such had adorned their attire with co-ordinating accessories. In the centre of the Great Hall, where the Christmas tree had stood for the last ball, was a frame of intertwined flowers of green and gold and garlands while round the edges large trees reaching past the ceilingless ceiling loomed loftily. It was as if a beautiful summer's day had been transported indoors for the enjoyment of everyone.

The ball was well attended. Unlike the Christmas one where several of the students had left to pursue celebrations of their own with their families practically every student, and every teacher, was enjoying the entertainment, food and the music, provided by the school's orchestra (who had apparently learned some modern music this time, some noted).

It would have been beautiful…except for the atmosphere.

Hermione and Ron had attended together although Hermione had wondered why she had actually bothered. She had taken less care in dressing and had been shocked at her boyfriend's ignorance when Ron had asked if her dress was new.

"It was the same one as I wore at Christmas," she replied frostily.

"Oh."

And the conversations around the room had fared no better. The main source of discussion was the ministry whose representatives were at the ball, strategically placed and highly conspicuous. It was troubling Hermione too but there was also the presence of Umbridge, who had made eye contact with her as she entered the Great Hall with Ron for the opening dance, and there was also Harry's reaction to what she had said.

Looking around at the teacher's tables though Hermione could tell that she wasn't the only one to feel out of sorts. Pasty Penwright looked downright petrified; Snape looked more severe than ever and the McGonagall looked ill.

And then there was the second topic of conversation.

As Hermione had woven herself around the Hogwarts students with a reluctant Ron in tow (he had not been able to get any new dress robes either) their ex-teacher she had heard people talking about Cecilia Frobisher in hushed voices.

"Have you heard…? Have you seen the "Prophet"?" asked Ron of Seamus as they sat down next to down from another dance. Seamus nodded slowly and then looked past them as Harry sat next to them.

"Yes," said Hermione, nodding too and following Seamus's look. When she caught Harry's expression she smiled before turning back to Seamus.

"It's a fine tune they've changed to," he commented. "A few months ago she was a threat to all wizard-kind and now she's some sort of hero. From his back pocket he pulled out a sheaf of the newspaper. The wizards on the page slid to one side as gravity took effect before shaking their heads and recommenced their animatedness as part of their original stories.

"This isn't the same paper," remarked Ron as he glanced at the page. "The paper I read was what mum sent to Ginny."

"A late edition," said Semaus, moving closer next to Ron as Professor Flitwick stumbled past, clearly a little worse for wear on the butterbeer. "It was reprinted this afternoon. Look…" He pointed at a paragraph inserted just below the picture of the playground in which Cecilia Frobisher encountered the dementors and frowned. Hermione and Harry craned to see.

"Malfoy!" Ron declared with anger under his breath. Harry, Hermione and Seamus watched his face turn red with unalloyed rage. If I ever…ever see him again!"

"Oh, but they never tell the truth, do they?" Hermione looked in shock at Harry as he addressed Ron.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you telling me Malfoy's been undercover somewhere and found Mrs Frobisher when the whole of the ministry couldn't find her?" All four of the students turned back at the paper as Draco Malfoy walked past, arm in arm with Pansy Parkinson. Harry leaned over and gripped Ron's arm as he made to turn to the Slytherin student.

"…the Dementor's kiss…" whispered Hermione dryly as she came to that part of the story again.

"It probably wasn't as bad as you thought," said Harry fighting a tear that threatened to appear in his eye. "She probably blacked out through most of it." He let his friend throw herself at his robe, soaking it in her own tears as he patted her back comfortingly. Ron nodded at Hermione and Harry and turned to spear a profiterole as the school clock tolled midnight. Suddenly Seamus nudged him in the side.

"Look! Dumbledore." The students around him turned automatically to the stage at the front where the entire staff had sat back down in the row of seats where they had been when the students had entered. From the centre of the row Professor Dumbledore, berobed in green and gold to match the décor, had got to his feet and was now proceeding to the front of the stage. Behind him there was visible muttering amongst the staff and one or two of them looked to the left whereat were sitting the two most disliked colleagues in the entire school Dolores Umbridge, who had arrived back at Hogwarts that day and announced more reforms in order to improve standards, and Tabitha Penwright.

"Students of Hogwarts. I trust you have enjoyed yourselves immensely at the ball this evening." He surveyed the cheering students who were suddenly hushed as the headmaster looked over them house by house.

"As you know at the end of each year our fifth- and seventh-year students enjoy this luxury as a mark of the end of their formal examinations. This year, as a mark of many things whose details I will subsequent describe, we felt it was pertinent to include you all for this is my last speech to you as headmaster."

The silence erupted into a forceful chattering when understanding filtered into minds and the students turned to one another and began to talk furiously to one another. It was clear that the news had come as a great shock to the teaching staff too as each one of them were staring at Albus Dumbledore wearing expressions of total astonishment.

"Dolores Umbridge." The Undersecretary and critical friend of Hogwarts was jolted from her daze and looked sharply at the wizard who was addressing her before getting to her feet. On cue light from the ceilingless ceiling picked her out to the students who began to chatter more.

"Dolores Umbridge. I am handing the school over to you. I will be leaving shortly and so without fear of retribution I can safely say to you all three things." He turned back to the school's populace who were now staring agog at him. "Look to your friends for comfort and support. Consider all that is true and believe it to be so. Remain loyal to your houses."

"But Professor Dumbledore, why?" A Gryffindor student called out loudly and suddenly became the spokeswizard for the entire throng.

"My departure represents the complete incompetence of the Ministry for Magic – "

" – I must protest – " Umbridge strode up to her soon-to-be predecessor and tried to take him by the arm, recoiling in shock when she realised she couldn't get her hand within six inches of him.

" – the incompetence of the Ministry for Magic resulting in not only the loss of opportunity to defeat Lord Voldermort using the Universal Link but also the chance to develop the magic behind it leading to the relentless pursuit and subsequent death of our Muggle Studies teacher."

On cue the students looked at Tabitha Penwright who blushed pinkly and clashed with her beige ball-attire.

"_He's talking about Mrs Frobisher_," growled Snape loudly enough so the entire Great Hall could hear him. Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgement.

"We have a _perfectly_ adequate teacher here, Dumbledore, someone who is _perfectly _capable of rediscovering the Universal Link were she given the appropriate and mandatory assistance – "

" – I am not talking about _her_, Umbridge I am talking about her!" Dumbledore stabbed his finger at Tabitha before pointing to the poor newspaper image of Cecilia Frobisher that another Gryffindor student was brandishing. Seamus put the offending page onto the table as movement from either side of the teachers' row indicated the impending removal of the document by the ministerial aurors and possibly the impending removal of Finnigan himself.

"A much loved teacher," continued Dumbledore as the aurors wove their way towards the centre of the Gryffindor table where Harry, Hermione, Ron and Seamus were sitting, "she gloriously brought to you the lives of non-wizards as well as the Universal Link. I have no reason to keep the details from you as it will only strengthen the goodness and rightness within you if you know what took place."

From Dumbledore's right Umbridge turned again and was advancing upon the soon-to-be ex-headmaster and was again repelled.

"No! You shall not!"

"Silencio!" Minerva McGonagall was on her feet now and had turned her ashen face and frail frame towards Umbridge, brandishing her wand. It had come as almost as much of a shock to the elderly witch herself as it had done to Dolores Umbridge and she staggered, her weight caught by Snape who eased her back into her chair.

"It was charged upon the ministry to locate Mrs Frobisher because the Minister for Magic believed her to be a threat to wizard security."

"Rubbish!" shouted someone from behind Hermione and she turned to see Fred and George standing on the tables issuing their protest along with several dozen other students from the other three houses even, noted Hermione in surprise, some from Slytherin. But it seemed to make no difference. Dumbledore appeared to be oblivious to any interruptions and continued with his speech.

"In doing so she was hounded from her home and was subsequently discovered by a Hogwarts student before coming up against Dementors unleashed by the Ministry for Magic."

"Malfoy!" growled both Ron and Harry together. Hermione said nothing and felt a tear trace slowly down her cheek as this to time Dumbledore allowed the ripple of noise to ebb.

"The life of a brilliant teacher was taken by a Dementor's kiss. I understand with from the Ministry's own interdepartmental accounts of the incident that she did indeed suffer greatly. And now," he concluded matter-of-factly as both Tabitha's and Umbridge's faces turned white, "Voldermort will arise again. The ministry does not believe this and chooses to pass the blame onto an easier, more identifiable and entirely false target: muggles.

"Lord Voldermort has only to find one last horcrux and he will return to inflict terror upon muggles and wizards alike. The ministry don't want you to know this and has drawn up a list of things they are going to do to make things safer for you!"

Dumbledore stopped and stepped towards the centre of the stage looking around at his students before raising his arms aloft. At once the pleasant summer sky turned charcoal black and heavy with cloud, lightning bolts crackled above and a rainstorm began to fall down the sides of the Great Hall.

"And so…a finely balanced sequence of events must now take place in order for him to be defeated. Beginning with this – goodbye!"

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A/N: so…whatcha think's going to happen next? Please review!


	22. Exit Music

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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Severus Snape walked along the teaching corridor, past his own classroom and stood adjacent to the Muggle Studies classroom door. The fifth year students who were lined up there exhaled with consternation as the tall wizard perused with undisguised disgust the students awaiting him.

"I want to be here as much as you do," he intoned as a begrudging class stood one behind the other automatically. "What do I know about muggles?" he added, looking at the sheet of paper he had been handed as the students filed past him and into the classroom.

Things hadn't been going well. Since Dumbledore's departure the evening before Dolores Umbridge had taken it upon herself to hold Hogwarts together "for the sake of the ministry and, of course, the students…"for that's why we're here, of course." Having had headship dumped upon her Snape had to admit she had taken it by both hands and was trying to hold it all together without too much uproar, but there had been problems.

For a start Umbridge just didn't have a clue how to run a school and was causing an inordinate amount of problems for everyone, himself included. It was something had probably anticipated when he put whichever part of his plan it was into action but Snape's role was different now to what it had once been. No longer was he a confidante and servant of Voldermort but whether this fitted into Dumbledore's preparations to defeat the Dark Lord Snape did not know.

Secondly, Umbridge had sent Tabitha Penwright off on an errand somewhere away from the castle. Snape would not have ordinarily minded. Since his visit with Sturgis Podmore to the Department of Mysteries to convince her to join them he had been undecided as to whether the Mysteriour was simple and naïve or whether she was at the other end of intelligent bordering on the crazy. Either option sounded plausible.

Nevertheless Professor Penwright was not where she should be, and neither was he. Snape should be, by rights, free to enable him to plan for further lessons, including the NEWT potions for the next year not having to baby-sit a classful of fifth years on additional mandatory lessons that had been written by Umbridge herself for the students to follow from the end of their exams until the end of the school year. Shaking his head Snape stepped into the Muggle Studies classroom and closed the door behind him.

It wasn't as if he didn't want to assist Penwright Snape thought as he compelled the Muggle Studies core texts to whiz across the room to each student sitting dolefully in front of him. Despite his efforts to avoid her there had been occasions following his visit to the Ministry and his tour of the Department of Mysteries where he had shared rather more than he would have liked and had, more or less, collaborated with her. Sadly she was not as good a colleague as Cecilia Frobisher.

"Turn to page eleven. Chapter three." Snape looked down at his hastily scribbled note in Tabitha Penwright's handwriting before glowering at the class. "You are to continue to read the chapter to the end and then answer the following question – " he turned over the paper, " – 'how far should you go to assist a muggle in danger?'." He saw the class glance at one another furtively.

"Well? You do know what I am talking about? This continues from the work Professor Penwright did with you in yesterday's lesson, yes?" He looked around at the fifth year students who seemed to be in various states of unconsciousness and frowned horribly.

"AM I RIGHT!" he roared, making several of the class sit up sharply.

"Yes, sir," chorused a few.

"Well, get on with it then!" Snape stalked towards the teachers' desk at the front and continued to contemplate the current situation.

Cecilia Frobisher. He wished could talk still talk to her.

"Muggle Studies," confirmed Hermione as she, Ron and Harry crept along the teaching corridor, late to their lesson.

"So we've got Poodle Penwright?" asked Ron as Harry leaned on the door of the classroom. They looked down the classroom and a sinking feeling descended on them for it was not Tabitha Penwright who they would have to explain their lateness.

"Snape!" whispered Ron in a not too subtle tone of voice.

"And you are late because…?"

"Please, Professor," began Hermione but Harry walked up to his Potions teacher who now turned out to be his Muggle Studies teacher.

"We were being interviewed by Umbridge, who seemed to think that we had something to do with D – Professor Dumbledore's disappearance yesterday." He held the stare that Snape was giving him and eventually the wizard looked at Ron and Hermione who nodded too. Around them mutterings began to ripple through the class.

"Take your seats," continued Snape mockingly. "I'm sure whatever was so important for the new headmistress of the school to speak to you about you may now turn your attention to your lesson – " he paced over to a couple of desks where very little had been done by the students there and pulling a parchment from an unresisting grasp," – although I see the point of the lesson has been completed to nowhere near satisfaction." He surveyed the students' faces who had all now raised their head and were paying him attention. "Mrs Frobisher would be disappointed that her efforts to teach you had been completely wasted."

And, as Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats Snape paced to the front of the Muggle Studies classroom and began to teach. For a few moments many of the class looked on in amazement at the ability of their usual severe Potions teacher, the Head of Slytherin House, expressing empathy and understanding for muggles in danger and despite his none too subtle protests to the contrary Harry listened in fascination as Severus Snape taught a Muggle Studies lesson in the same way as Cecilia Frobisher had done only months before.

The work became hands-on; Snape paired them up and got them to act out possible muggle-endangering situations and allowed them to work through the possible solutions that were not illegal, immoral or jeopardising the dignity of the muggle in the scenarios or themselves. All in all a lesson that Harry would have considered to be unbelievable if he had not just witnessed it himself.

At the end of the lesson, once a very dazed and somewhat confused class of students were dismissed, Harry remained behind. Snape seemed to be in no rush to leave as he was scrutinising something on the desk in front of him and Harry approached him slowly.

"You still here, Potter?" Harry nodded.

"Why?"

"Well, I was late to your lesson, sir," he gave as an explanation and Snape's eyes narrowed mistrustfully.

"You may go," Snape said finally. "If it were my lesson however I _would_ be keeping you. Consider yourself lucky." He dropped his head and continued to read. After a time, presumably because he hadn't registered the door open and close, Snape looked back up.

"Is Mrs Frobisher really dead?" blurted out Harry clumsily. He felt embarrassment fleet across his features and he realised Snape had noticed it too.

"What concern is it of yours, Potter?"

"I knew her, not very well of course, but she was a nice person." Harry glanced at the parchment that Snape was holding and the wizard folded it sharply in half.

"'Nice'?" He folded his arms and walked around to the other side of the desk, his features contorting at the horrific nature of the word. "How awful, nice," he repeated scornfully. "Flowers are nice, Potter. Slytherin beating Gryffindor at Quidditch is nice. And to answer your first question the desoulment of a muggle leaves them quite definitely dead. Perhaps you wish to continue this conversation in more detail? Perhaps you would like me to describe what it would be like? What it would have felt like…?" Harry stared back at Snape's tormenting face, clearly speaking to him like that in a deliberate attempt to upset him. He shook his head mutely.

"There are some who were close to her who miss her dearly." Snape's tone had changed and his voice was now low and threatening, making it clear that the conversation about Mrs Frobisher was closed and Harry's mind drifted back to a few weeks before and the glimpse of the intimate memory. Then, as he regained the sense of the then and there, he realised that Snape was pointing towards the classroom door.

"Lupin," nodded Harry and watched as Snape nodded slowly too. "Malfoy killed her. I mean, not actually killed her," he added when he saw Snape's face change from ashen to slightly pink. "But he informed the ministry." Snape said nothing and Harry exhaled inwardly.

"Professor Snape," said Harry clearly and calmly as he tried again. "My aunt…how is my aunt involved in all of this?"

"And how do you know that she is?" asked Snape, withdrawing his arm and folding one over the other.

"The Daily Prophet said that she was found in Little Whinging. So it has to be something to do with Aunt Petunia." Snape's lips narrowed to almost nothing and he looked away from Harry's shrewd expression. And then he asked him a question which Harry would definitely not have answered had Snape not gestured for him to sit down and he had not sat down on a student chair too.

"I take no pleasure in knowing this Potter, but it may help answer some questions that we all have." Harry nodded and proceeded to detail some of the less painful examples of Petunia Dursley's treatment of him for the ten or so years he had been in her care.

"What precisely was her reaction when she knew you were a wizard?" Harry opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it quickly.

"Horrified," he said plainly.

"Why do you think that was so?" pressed Snape, his tone having changed to one of compassion which Harry to have believed the austere wizard was far from capable.

"Well, I always got the feeling that if I hadn't been a wizard then she would have liked me better."

"So, it was the fact you are a wizard, not the fact you are you."

"Yes, I suppose so, but – "

"…and how did she react to the mention of spells and magic in the house?"

" – hated it, but – "

"Thank you," said Snape, his tone one of finality as he got to his feet. "Your information has been most useful."

"Professor Snape," asked Harry, determined now to ask the question he had been daring himself to ask since the end of the ball the day before. "I know what a horcrux is…when Professor Dumbledore left he said Voldermort only had one more to find…" Harry's voice trailed off as Snape stared silently back at him. "Do you know where it is?"

There was a long pause and then Snape shook his head.

"No," he repeated. "Now, if you would be kind enough to leave." He waited until Harry had taken the hint that the conversation was over and as he put his hand on the doorknob Snape began to speak again, his voice returning to the derisive, scathing tone that Harry had come to know and loathe.

"If you are ever late for one of my lessons again Potter, whatever your excuse, I want you to be clear that you will be in for two hours' detention."

88888888

"He will be here," said the traitor as he and the Death Eater entered the underground car park in Chelsea. "He is greedy and he wants the money."

"He'd better be or I will not stand in the way of the Dark Lord's wrath. He repays disloyalty most _generously_ with pain." The traitor said nothing. He was able to see the expression on the Death Eater's face even if the wizard himself believed it to be conveyed secretly to the darkness. They wove their way down a few more flights of stairs to the basement level of the car park where a few flickering lights beheld the lone car parked to one side.

"Let me," said the traitor, putting his palm flat towards the Death Eater. "If he suspects trouble then he might not give us what we want."

"What _exactly_ is he going to be telling us?" asked the Death Eater mistrustfully. "We know already the location of the Dark Lord's horcrux and _you_ know the only person who can fetch it for us."

"He knows her better than us," replied the traitor as the lights of the car flicked on, indicating to the practitioners of magic that the muggle in question was aware of their presence. "His information _is_ valuable and it will become loosened with a large amount of lucrative lubrication."

They approached the car slowly and the traitor slipped from sight momentarily as the Death Eater knocked on the window, put out a little at his colleague's confusing alliteration.

"I've got the information you need," began the muggle, getting out of the car. "We can talk here, there's no problem. The car park's locked from the outside."

The Death Eater bore down on the man, whose initial expression of confidence was replaced by uncertainty. "I dealt with someone else before," the man added as the Death Eater's face contorted into a mask of horror. "Is he here with you?"

As if on cue the traitor re-appeared. He was impressed. It usually took people a good few minutes to adjust to his presence but the muggle simply took it in his stride.

"Of course," the traitor replied, stepping in front of the Death Eater and shaking the muggle man's hand a few times. "You have done well so far. My colleague here," the traitor looked at the Death Eater, "wishes to confirm the tasks you have already carried out and bear witness to the last one before you are paid." At the word "paid" a ripple of anticipation crossed the man's features and the traitor smiled inwardly. And now we have reached the bottom of this man's well. He would do anything for money.

"So?" asked the Death Eater impatiently, looking between the man and the traitor. "What do you have for us?"

And so the muggle revealed in glorious sketchiness information he had prised from another the day before much to the satisfaction of both the Death Eater and the traitor.

"So you are saying that the information she has uncovered leads to a supposed link between wizards and muggles?" The man nodded.

"It would appear so. From what she said," nodded the man. The Death Eater took a pace towards the muggle but the traitor stood in front of him.

"So _you _could have discovered that information," concluded the Death Eater,hissing his accusation at the traitor. "Continue, muggle." The traitor noticed a flicker of recognition at the word pass over the man's face and he added, waving away the abruptness of the Death Eater, "please continue." But the man did not, not immediately and instead looked back at the Death Eater.

"Where's the money?"

"Here," replied the traitor quickly. "I promised you, didn't I?" He watched as the muggle man stared at the Death Eater and take a step backwards.

"You promised me. I've been dealing with you since the phone call," he added, his voice tinged with fear and he waited for recognition to register on the traitor's face. The traitor nodded.

"So I will talk to just you alone? I have the details." The man looked at the traitor and then at the Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew said nothing and the traitor took it as a signal that he could share take the man aside and he did so, guiding the muggle round to the other side of his car. Once he had shared every piece of information that his sister had shared with him the traitor led him back round to Wormtail.

"He is prepared to answer any questions you like," said the traitor, his voice light and nonchalant. The muggle nodded in agreement.

"Tell me," began Wormtail, "about the task in Scotland." At his words the muggle's face contorted into horror.

"I did it," he stammered, trying to force pride out with fear. "I killed those women."

"But not the child." Wormtail began to pace round to the other side of the muggle and the man was in the unfortunate position of having one on each side of him.

"There was a child? Even if I had realised I would not have killed a child!" Wormtail snorted in disagreement. Not _quite_ anything for money, thought the traitor, intrigued.

"You said 35," said the man, changing the subject and he addressed the traitor, who was standing on his right.

"What?"

"Thirty five thou."

"Oh, but of course," replied Wormtail, his voice light and airy which should have made the man cautious rather than relaxed. "We have the information we need…on all counts."

"And the science," added the traitor. Wormtail raised one thick eyebrow.

"Well, just basic," added the man. "You could get it from anyone." Why doesn't he? The man's inner mind questioned silently.

"And your sister?" asked Wormtail, inching his way closer to the man.

"Oh her? She's no-one important. She knows this stuff, but it's all irrelevant, I'm afraid."

"Well, that's where you're wrong," said Wormtail lightly. "Tell me the last thing she said to you."

"She is teaching and not enjoying what she's doing."

"And what specifically does she do?"

"Well, er, she had a book in her hands that she was reading when she was asking me about science…and about her new work," he added. Come on, his subconscious thought, hoping that the arrow of caution would penetrate to his conscious mind. That's enough. You should be going about now. "About the artefact she is investigating. Mysterious Mythology."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Wormtail, his face twisting into what the man could only hope was a smile.

But the thought of caution that his subconscious so wanted him to hear arrived too late. As the wizard raised his wand Robert Penwright realised –

"Avada Kedavra!"

– that he should never have got into this in the first place.

88888888

Hermione bent her head over the letter she had just received. It was unusual for owls to deliver letters so late in the evening yet when they came from the Ministry they could arrive at any time. Trying to make it make sense she read the words through for a fourth time.

"…we wish to inform you that your parents…under new ministerial powers…unable to ascertain magical intent…hereby befuddled before the end of the day of 20th June…due to a backlog in befuddlements we apologise for not being able to give a more specific time…security measures…"

Hermione shook her head and felt her eyes fill with tears. Even if she left now she wouldn't be able save them. She would go home and they would hardly recognise her, if at all. If only she had decided to go home instead of returning after the Easter holidays. Mrs Frobisher was dead…Dumbledore was gone…her friendships were hanging together by a thread...and now this…

"There you are!" Behind her, coming up the stairs of the Gryffindor tower, was Ron. His voice was a mixture of relief and uncertainty. "This is where you've been hiding."

Hermione turned to snap back at her boyfriend, to tell him he had no right to follow her and what was he doing here but instead the words became choked at the back of her throat and the intended flood of words was replaced by lachrymosity. Ron said nothing but hurried towards her and took her in his arms, stroking her back and the torrent of tears soaked into his shirt. When Hermione's sobs turned to sniffs he leaned her back into a sitting position and stroked a hand down her sleeve. Hermione followed it with her red, sore eyes and smiled a little when he took her hand in his.

"Come on," he said, getting to his feet and helping Hermione to hers. "Whatever it is, you need to be with your friends." Hermione shook her head and remained where she was, clutching the letter from the ministry in the other. Ron looked at it and she thrust it in front of him, opening her hand to reveal the parchment with its distinctive blue ribbon.

"I'll read it," nodded Ron "but you're going to come down after then?" Saying nothing, Hermione nodded and she watched her boyfriend take the parchment from her. She watched his face contort as he too read the horrifying details. When he had finished he handed her back the letter.

"They'll still remember you," he said, taking her hand again as Hermione got to her feet and the young witch said nothing. This was precisely why she had chosen to come to the top of the Gryffindor tower in the first place. She knew she couldn't make Ron understand the extent of the devastation she was feeling.

Once they were down the steps Ron took her into the common room. Few people were there and he led her over to the sofa where Harry and Ginny were sitting. They turned when they saw the pair approaching and on seeing Hermione's distress Ginny leapt up and pushed her way between them before peeling Hermione off to another part of the common room, telling her that it wasn't just her parents but all the muggle-borns.

Ron watched them go before flopping onto the sofa next to his friend. Even today, with summer in full fledge the crackling of the open fire was comforting.

"You found her then?" Harry looked at his friend, who nodded.

"Top of the tower."

"She's got her letter then?" Ron nodded again and leaned towards Harry.

"It's not just the muggle-borns," he said, pointing to an article tucked underneath the main one which was declaring open criticism of the ministry's security measures. "The rumours are true. I wet outside the edgestones and floo'd Dad. Yeah, I know it was risky," Ron added when he saw Harry's expression. "I would have made something convincing up but it was Shacklebolt on the door and I told him I'd been to see to Fang. Anyway," he continued, shaking the paper and pointing to the article again. "Dad said they're hated more than muggles and there's a backlog that the ministry's got to process. Hagrid's been called away but they're dealing with the ones they think are the most dangerous. Dad told me that they'd sent letters to Hogwarts."

Harry thought about that evening when, at dinner, a deluge of owls brought every muggle born witch and wizard the same notice.

"But what good's it going to do by imprisoning all the half-breeds? All they're doing is trying to show they're doing something."

"Exactly," nodded Ron. "But Dad said the official line was that they're being imprisoned for their own safety. Lupin's to be taken; Tonks has been followed too…her muggle husband, Mrs Frobisher's friend." Harry's eyes widened as he took it in. Then he got to his feet.

"Where're you going ?" asked Ron, standing up too.

"There's something I've got to do."

"Something secret I suppose," complained Ron and Harry felt sorry for him.

"You can come with me," he conceded. "If you think Hermione's going to be all right on her own." They both looked over at the other settee. Hermione was sitting there, head in her hands with Ginny nowhere to be seen.

"I'll stay with her," said Ron and both boys crossed the common room floor, Ron sitting next to Hermione and taking her hand, Harry heading for the door and the Fat Lady.

On the corridor things were worse than in the common room. Alcoves, stairs and doorways all housed clusters of people sobbing, comforting and consoling. The only house whose members did not seem to be engaging in such activities, Harry noticed as he hurried along the corridor and down the main staircase, was Slytherin. Indeed, there seemed to be a notable lack of representation from them.

As he crossed into the large hallway towards the main castle doors Draco Malfoy pushed past him. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw behind him what looked like a small gang of fifth years in pursuit. He turned back and watched as Malfoy marched through the courtyard heading, it seemed, towards the classrooms. Harry wasn't surprised. The rumour that Draco had been somehow involved in Mrs Frobisher's death had got out and had spread like wildfire around Hogwarts. If that hadn't been enough Dumbledore leaving and the arrival of the muggle-borns' letters that evening would probably have angered more than enough of his fellow students.

And then Harry stopped. Malfoy had been cornered by a few students just before the main classroom corridor. The students, all representing the other three houses, were tormenting him but even as they insulted him he wasn't biting back.

"Oy!" Harry found himself shouting as he turned and hurried over to the crowd. One or two faces looked in his direction but most of the small throng remained fixed on Malfoy.

"Leave him alone," Harry said firmly, pushing between them and most of the students turned to look at him, including Draco and Harry was shocked to see that his usually fresh-faced if pale appearance had given way to ashen skin and sunken eyes.

"What business is it of yours, Potter?" Justin Finch-Fletchley narrowed his eyes. "I'd have thought you'd have thanked us for doing you a favour. After all, he killed the muggle studies teacher: a muggle." One or two of the other students nodded in agreement and one girl from Hufflepuff waved her letter.

"He's not to blame for the ministry," replied Harry sharply. "Leave him alone."

Before the group could do anything though Draco turned towards Harry and scowled, before pushing past them and trudging, head bent, down the teaching corridor.

"I can't believe you just did that!" exclaimed Terry Boot. "After all the gip he's given you since you got here, Harry." But Harry just turned and headed towards the east gateway towards the owlery leaving behind the cries of disbelief that his actions had encouraged.

Once there he sat amongst the now-roosting owls on the central wall and held his head in his hand and began to mull things over. If it were true…if what the prophecy was holding meant Voldermort could return to his full self or die…if he went and faced the dark wizard…

Harry badly wanted to talk to Sirius. Since knowing that Sirius Black was his godfather he had felt more comfortable with the unknown because he had someone who was concerned about him, a little like parents would be, Harry imagined.

But Sirius had made it clear that he had to decide when was he going to learn not to rely on him any more. Every part of him wanted to find a vacant fireplace and risk it, or beg Ron to show him how to make a portable floo but there was a part of him that agreed with Sirius. He had to make his own mind up now, especially considering what Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy all those weeks before.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang through the nearly still air, ruffling the feathers of some of the owls roosting by the door hooted at her in annoyance as she and Ron walked over to him.

"How are you?" asked Harry as they sat down next to him.

"How are you more like," said Ron, looking round the owlery. "You'd prefer to tell your woes to a bunch of featherbrains?" Harry jerked his head sharply towards his best friend as Hermione touched his arm.

"You're freezing," she said, rubbing his arm. "It's going to get pretty cold in here soon. Why don't you come back to the common room?"

"No thanks," said Harry, getting to his feet and shrugging off Hermione, "I can make his own decisions."

"Hermione can help you," said Ron as he saw Hermione's face begin to crinkle in distress. "All this…it's not a competition. She knows some science that can help you, and some other things which might be useful."

"Even though Mrs Frobisher's dead and she is likely to have been the one to have caused it?" Harry stared at Hermione but instead of crying as he'd expected she sprang to her feet too.

"How dare you throw that back into my face!" she yelled, her face turning lobster-pink. "After what you did to her? And there I was trying to help you after you'd chickened out _yet again_!" Hermione folded her arms defiantly as Harry made to reply. Instead he sighed. His efforts had come to naught: his pursuance of the men of science in Lupin's book…the spell…the potion…Harry was beginning to realise that he couldn't do it alone. And…

"I was going. I was leaving last night. I was going home to Mum and Dad with the information I had to fight it from the outside. My world out there, my muggle world is changing…crumbling…and now my parents are to be befuddled and Dumbledore's gone. I was going to tell him everything I knew!" Both Ron and Harry stared at her in alarm. She'd never talked about leaving before. Clearly there were things she hadn't shared with either of them. And the truth was, Harry did need her help. The truth was…

"The truth is…I'm _scared_." Harry threw down his fists by his sides and allowed his head to droop. "Mrs Frobisher said…" He turned to look through the owlery window.

"…Harry…"

"…talk to us…"

"…what did she say…?" Hermione and Ron were standing either side of their friend and speaking to him softly. He looked at them and they were shocked to see his expression.

" 'When the potion is completed it will afford you protection. Once it is used, you will be ever free of Voldermort, from your waking mind as much as your dreams.' " He looked between his two friends. "That's what Mrs Frobisher told me. I want that…I need that…the emotional state of a wizard had a bearing on how well the spell works…I must use Avada Kedavra on Voldermort with two opposing emotions in my mind…for at that moment all my other magical abilities will be reduced right down and add more power to the killing curse…and…" Suddenly Harry hung his head and supported it in his hands. He wasn't crying but internal conflict was evident. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances as they patted his back comfortingly.

"Hermione's been working on something too," said Ron when Harry finally straightened up. "Mrs Frobisher asked her about horcruxes and she's done some research."

"Would you like to hear about it?" asked Hermione and she felt her heart soar when Harry nodded in agreement. They sat back on the owlery's central wall and the young witch began to talk to her friend as Ron.

"I've looked into all of this and it all fits. And I've verified it. And it fits in with what you've just said." She smiled at Harry, her eyes glimmering. "Don't ask me where I got this from but…let's just say you and Ron aren't the only ones who go out of the dorms at night and Umbridge hasn't a clue about security." Harry rolled his eyes towards Ron as much as to ask his friend whether he knew about this and Ron shook his head.

"Go on, then," said Harry as the easy familiarity of being with his friends slotted back into his psyche.

"You know what a horcrux is, yes?" asked Hermione. Both Ron and Harry nodded. "Right," she nodded. "So: there's only person who's been taken into custody from Azkaban without dying in there, and that was Regulus Black, Sirius's brother. He was arrested after the end of the first war and sent to Azkaban. While there Black summoned up enough energy to cast a spell to reduce his power. No-one could understand it: after all, Death Eaters want more power not less, but they ignored it. As it happens You-Know-Who did the same thing at the same time but for him the spell caused a rent in his soul and caused it to split up. The only place for a piece of a soul to be put, when cast under a horcrux spell is inside another object who has also had the spell performed or has performed it themselves. He wanted to keep it safe until he knew what he could do to sort it out." Hermione stopped and let the information float around the owlery as Ron and Harry digested it.

"You don't mean to say…" said Ron, who hadn't understood it when Hermione had told him before.

"So you're saying that Regulus Black has a part of Voldermort's soul inside him?" Hermione nodded but Harry shook his head.

"He's dead. He can't have. If a person's dead, or the object destroyed then the soul returns to the person. And Dumbledore definitely said that there was a horcrux out there."

"If it's a part of Voldermort," said Ron.

"It has to be," replied Hermione. "He needs all parts of it to regain his full power. That's what stopped him in February."

"He must have thought very highly of him to trust him with that," said Harry vaguely. Hermione shook her head.

"No. He thought Regulus would either be restored to him as a Death Eater if he could organise a mass breakout through Draco's father, or he would die, in which case it would be restored to him later. I…know it doesn't all make sense, but I'm sure if we were to work on it together…" Hermione looked down.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you." Harry reached over and put his hand over hers, which was folded tightly over the brick of the wall and she smiled.

"So am I. Sorry for bringing up about, well, you know." Harry exhaled. Some of it made sense. He knew he must carry out the potion in the Department of Mysteries – Dumbledore had told him so. He had also told Harry he could inadvertently make Voldermort stronger." Ron and Hermione stared at him when he shared that with him.

"Why have you been up here on your own, mate?" asked Ron eventually. If they were sharing their inner fears then it was clear he didn't want to be left out. "I thought it was a girl, or something. I thought you were going strange. And now you're telling me you're trying to figure out the potion you need to take on your own?"

"I have no choice," replied Harry quietly. "It would have worked the last time if Mrs Frobisher hadn't intervened. I have to believe it would work now, with their alterations."

"And you have to say the words with as much hatred for Voldermort but with an equal amount of love for your parents," interjected Hermione, rubbing his arm. Harry nodded.

"Sirius told me to work it out for myself and he's right," Harry said, looking between his friends. "I don't know what he told you," he looked at Hermione, who blinked in alarm, "but I think he thinks he's going to make things worse. This is as far as I've got." He handed a piece of parchment to the young witch. "Last time you helped her, Hermione. This time, will you help me?" Hermione took the parchment, unrolled it and read the information thereon. Eventually she looked up.

"You did this on your own? " Harry nodded. "Snape didn't help you?" This time he shook his head.

"But what if…?"

"I tried to talk to Snape yesterday about the potion and again today about something simple," conceded Harry, raising his eyebrows in Ron's direction. "He wouldn't listen to me."

"He wouldn't because he's Snape," muttered Ron darkly.

"He didn't even give you a chance? He dismissed you out of hand?" Harry shook his head.

"No, he listened to me…he told me he was impressed with my understanding of the situation."

"Snape told you he was impressed with something you'd done?" asked Ron doubtfully. Harry nodded. "Yesterday. He told me to forget about it. He told me I was the boy who lived, not the boy who lived to die. And then today he wouldn't even engage me in conversation. I suppose that's what Dumbledore's disappearance does for you."

"Who knows," said Hermione, her voice sounding brighter than it had done for a long time. "The Order has clearly got their own agenda which we can't possibly begin to guess at. We've got to work this out for ourselves, for you," she added. Harry smiled. "So we need to share everything we know so we can work out where to go next," continued Hermione forthrightly. "Ron, you said that Harry knew something about Snape and a memory that Harry saw?" Harry jerked his neck so he was looking at his best friend.

"Well?" Hermione looked between the two young wizards much as a teacher might at two truth-economic children.

"You don't want to know," moaned Harry.

"If we are to sort this out, then I need to know. So I'm asking you." And then Hermione wished she hadn't.

"You saw _what_?"

"I told you you didn't want to know," sighed Harry. "I don't know what it means."

"It _means_," said Hermione, her tone sounding as if she was fighting patronisation, "Ginny was right after all. Snape loved Mrs Frobisher." And then she got to her feet and shook her head. "Only…"

"Only what?" asked Ron as Hermione began to pace around silently.

"Only, that means the letter must be wrong. But it can't be!" She looked at both Harry and Ron, forgetting completely that they didn't know what she was talking about.

"Look. Here." Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her jeans pocket. "I was going to tell you, Harry. Tell you both. But I was going last night. And then I didn't."

"Snape and…_my mother_?!"

"It would certainly seem like they were close," said Ron, who had been reading the letter over his shoulder. "He seemed to be helping her because of Lupin."

"She's asking if he can help her help Lupin," said Hermione. "From the date they're in their seventh year. She was going out with your dad then." Ron nodded too and Harry's shoulders relaxed a little. Then he stared at Hermione.

"And how did you find out about this?" Harry demanded.

"It was an accident," admitted Hermione, feeling a blush build upon her chest that was sure to flow up and engulf her entire face. "I found out about the Continuum of Wizards and – "

" – the Continuum of Wizards?" interrupted Ron.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"It's a theory Mrs Frobisher came up with," said Hermione, her face lighted up and her voice rich with excitement. "She said that wizards and muggles can't be categorised. She said she had evidence to show that there is a range of magical ability. That there are some people out there who have a little bit of magical ability whose parents passed this on to them or they have a limitation in their ability to learn magic!"

"What?"

"Like Neville?"

"What?" asked Hermione and Harry together.

"Like Neville?" asked Ron again. "He's like that, isn't he? He has trouble with magic but he's not a squib." Hermione nodded.

"And Mrs Frobisher came up with this?" Harry shook his head in astonishment. "I really wish she was here now," he lamented.

"Don't we all," said Hermione, walking towards him lightly and touched him on the arm. Ron, on the other side of Harry, touched hers in turn and Harry patted Ron on the back. They were themselves again. Whatever falling out they had had it wasn't going to affect their friendship from now on.

"Right, we know about Regulus Black, and Snape's memory, and the letter, and the continuum. Is there anything else we need to know?" Hermione looked at Ron and Harry, waiting for them to answer. "Come on," she chided. "Anything at all might help and then we can plan what to do." She saw Harry exhale. Whatever he was about to tell her was going to be tender.

"There's the stuff that Sirius told me about…in February…about his brother…and about Henrietta Edwards…he didn't want to tell me everything but – " Harry clenched his fists. "I can't think like this, Hermione." He looked at his friend. "You are collecting the information but people have given their lives for this…for me. I'm not going to allow decisions about my welfare influence my judgment." And then, just as both Ron and Hermione suspected he was about to fly into a rage again Harry smiled at his friends before telling them about it.

"And Sirius's information about his brother and Henrietta Edwards," said Hermione, tacking this extra dimension to their already lengthy list. "That's enough to be getting on with. Now, what I suggest we start with is – "

"A trace was put on Cecilia when she left Lupin's cottage," blurted out Ron and interrupting Hermione again. "Well, you did say you wanted any information," he said, granting his friends the privilege of being taken aback. "Dad told me. Today. When he told me about the muggle action by the Ministry. It came to light two days' ago when they received the report about Mrs Frobisher." Ron broke off and swallowed, his smile fading from his lips. "They put a trace on her before she got to the cottage. It wouldn't have mattered how many letters you sent Hermione, it was only a matter of time before they found her."

"Umbridge!" declared Hermione angrily. "She told me…she made me believe…it was my fault! And she knew about this, then!" She looked at Harry and Ron defiantly. "Well I don't feel guilty about breaking into Dumbledore's office now! You know it's pink and she's got pictures of fluffy kittens everywhere?"

"Umbridge set the trace," confirmed Ron and Hermione hurried over to him and he took her hand.

"So it was Umbridge." Harry shook his head slowly as the whole picture began to slot into place. "Malfoy found her but it was the ministry that killed her. Umbridge killed her." He trailed off to silence and Hermione took him by the shoulders.

"We are with you, Ron and me." She patted her jeans pocket knowingly. "Like you say, I've got the information. Can you cope with that?" Harry nodded. Ron and Hermione smiled at one another.

"Then whatever your want Harry, whatever you decide, we're with you."

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However had he thought that Grimmauld Place would be a safe place to hide? He was so annoyed with himself…to have attacked of Snape…not that there was much love lost between them but he let his emotions get away with him. It was here it had started, when he knew Snape, the secret-keeper, wouldn't tell him where Cecilia was.

He wouldn't let anyone help him either, not Sirius or Tonks or Dumbledore, after that. He had gone back to cottage and languished in self-pity until he had been taken back to the ministry and then, through a series of unfortunate occurrences turned into werewolf, was arrested and recaptured.

The waning moon glittered on the water that stretched before him. Usually it would mean to him that the worst was over. Tonight however, as he watched the water ripple under the borrowed light their inescapable destination meant the worst was yet to come.

Their guard from the ministry seemed to have things on her mind too. Hers though, revolved around her boss's incompetence rather than her own for once and Tabitha Penwright seemed to have obtained the mucky end of the deal yet again. Not content with sending her from the castle (which Tabitha was grateful for) Umbridge had re-assigned her to the task of re-interviewing the half-breeds that she had initially interviewed when she had been sent from Hogwarts the last time.

At least she had had the fortune to leave the school before she was called upon to deal with the chaos that had begun upon the disappearance of Dumbledore, though. To say that Dolores Umbridge had problems was an understatement. In fact even chaos was a mild word to the uproar that Tabitha had left behind her; a real rebellion in which her boss was unable to contain even the simplest of things with no co-operation of the staff nor pupils.

There had been problems with the school's ghosts and poltergeist; she'd ordered the house elves, always a little highly strung at the best of times, to carry out Hagrid's duties (the gamekeeper had also mysteriously left on the evening of the ball) and had driven several dozen of them into hysterics when they encountered Fang. She had insisted that the Aurors return to the ministry and then instantly regretted it when she came across a few mischievous children…the list was growing, so much so that Tabitha had had to ignore a floo message in the hearth in her office just so that she could do what her boss had ordered her to do.

Under different circumstances Tabitha might sympathise with her Dolores had Umbridge not assigned her to escort the half breeds who had become dangerous and, as a result, had purchased a one-way-ticket to Azkaban Prison. Now, standing in the rain under a new assignment with Gregor, her elderly colleague from the Department of Mysteries and Wiggleswick, a junior arithmancer, more used to columns of runes and sigils than people, and with the ministry working overtime on the muggle befuddling that was taking place over the next few days, Tabitha had just about run out of empathy.

She looked past the caged prisoners, stacked two-high on the open vessel and her mind turned to relatively more comforting thoughts. It was strange how the befuddlement of the muggles had been passed by the Minister for Magic. Cornelius Fudge had always been reticent about the non-magic population of the country, taking an uncharacteristically liberal line. Now, Tabitha supposed, with Dumbledore gone and rumours of these – _animals_ – being the media through which You-Know-Who was going to act had caused Fudge to act. All muggles who knew about the wizard world were being befuddled: those who were married to wizards; anyone who knew about the wizard world; her family and friends. Her family and friends. Robert, Serina, her mother –

– Gregor had his wand raised and he motioned to Tabitha to stand by him. One of the prisoners was becoming restless. Though now in human form the werewolf still appeared frightening.

"They think they've caught all of 'em now," growled Gregor, his voice low and full of warning. "They're tricky devils: cowardly. Hidin' for their lives." Tabitha nodded. That was the ministry line…so far she had no reason to doubt it. But she could understand why they were becoming uneasy: she could feel the chill of dread pass through her as they approached Azkaban. Wiggleswick, who had been throwing up over the side of the boat came to join them and all three ministerial guards stood prone until the ship was tethered by its painter to the prison's wharf.

"Okay, okay, get them in." Tabitha looked at the half-breeds who were now clamouring at the bars of their cages. "Penwright, of the Department of Mysteries," she said to the chief officer at the wharf as other wizards began to open the cages, standing assertively with their wands outstretched. "Fifteen here," she continued as she handed the wizard the parchment. "All turned nasty under interrogation. Four wizards dead, three seriously injured." The wizard unfurled the parchment and glanced down the list as the Azkaban warders began to direct the halfbreeds at wandpoint along a long dark corridor.

Remus Lupin watched as the cages in front of him were unloaded and his heart began to fill with dread. He should never have given in to his pre lunar tension. Claiming to be going to find Cecilia's family was the stupidest thing he'd done and then trying to get past the interrogator…

…even if she was there, it would have put her in danger…but that's why they called it lunacy…

…he wanted her…that visceral urge…wanting her…needing her…

"Name?"

"Remus Lupin." The Azkaban warden continued to point his wand at Remus's cage as another fired a couple of sparks at the lock. He flinched and watched the expression of mirth appear on the second guard's face. They had explained to all of them before they departed from the Middlesbrough Transporter Bridge, the secret dock in the North of England whence the boats bound for Azkaban departed, that any hint of escape and the warders would have no hesitation but to use the Avada Kedavra curse.

There was to be no trial, the female guard had said before they left, and they would remain at Azkaban for their own safety. Remus had looked around at the other prisoners incarcerated like he was. They were just ordinary people, just like him. H

"Crime?"

He had been convicted of attacking his interrogator, who had been foolish enough to continue the interview process at the exact moment that the full moon was about to rise. The poor man had lost an arm and most of his shoulder when Remus had gone for him. There was no excuse. He was guilty.

"Assault on an auror."

But at least Cecilia was safe, wherever she was. That was what he had to cling to, even if the prospect of seeing her seemed further away than ever. He jumped down from his cage, which was stacked upon another now-empty one.

"Why are we being taken away?" Remus heard another werewolf say. The wizard had been in the cage adjacent to him and he had been one who had killed his interrogator on the night that Remus had maimed his.

"You are the enemies of wizard world," laughed the wizard's warder.

"We are no danger to people, with the right potion," said Remus as he followed the other werewolf, who nodded in agreement.

"No, you misunderstand the purpose of your imprisonment here…Mr Lupin, is it?" The warder who had undertaken the guard of the other werewolf turned his moustachioed face towards him. "Your imprisonment is for your own protection."

"This way it will stop muggles getting suspicious," said his own guard. "And there's no point struggling: the ministry would only make it worse for you."

"_We've done nothing wrong_!" The werewolf in front of Remus screamed the sentiment of all of the prisoners on their boat and others screamed and yelled in agreement. As they reached the transition point between outside and in Remus felt inside his pocket and his hand closed round his last piece of chocolate. It wouldn't last long: he could hear the noises and sounds, like tortuous whispers coming from inside. As the warders changed places with the guards he slipped the chocolate square into the hand of the werewolf in front of him and the man half-smiled at him in gratitude.

"Keep them here, while we prepare the boat for the return journey." The chief officer relieved the guards of their duty and led them back out onto the wharf. The warders took a few steps away from their prisoners and formed a kind of elongated oval so each of the prisoners was covered by at least two of them.

Remus looked back out to sea. It was strange, surreal. Being here in Azkaban for a crime he had committed under impossible circumstances, no doubt being made to take the blame somewhere for muggle protection or Voldermort or both. His mind drifted to a story in his story book from which his father used to read to him as the moon continued to reflect onto the North Sea. It was the one he had got Harry to tear it out because it made a passing reference to Caelius Lupin, a sentimental error which his father had made, adding his son's name to the story and being unable to remove it.

He remembered Dad, who was always doing things like that but his reason for it existing had fallen apart when he had overheard John Lupin talking to his grandmother. It had been this mistake which had somehow this had alerted their presence in the Lake District to someone, someone powerful enough to tip off Greyback. Someone, Remus had long suspected, working for the ministry, possibly even Oswald Avery himself, who had been employed by the ministry originally before being recruited by Lully as a Reciprocator. Like father like son. One small mistake resulting in one catastrophic one.

Remus jerked his head as the iron gate that led deep inside the prison began to move and the warders around them became more alert. It seemed to Remus, with Azkaban in the middle of the North Sea, a gate between the outer wharf and inner passageway, irrelevant when they would be meeting their dementors shortly. He shuddered and recalled Sirius's description of one of Azkaban's more perverse tradition.

All that Remus had steeled himself to be able to tolerate. He would have tolerated it without question and borne it with dignity. He would have held his head high when the warders chanted taunts at them…useless…dangerous…half breed…

…and when these barbs eventually emanated from his own thoughts…

Behind him rain began to teem down onto the wharf and onto the guards who were checking the prison boat. Remus turned to look and in doing so caused his world to come crashing down around him.

He had glanced at the newspaper. The Daily Prophet, three days' old, had been placed on the officer's desk by the arithmancer who was continuing to improve the pollution problems in the North Sea by vomiting into it. It was the picture Remus Lupin noticed first but the words he would remember.

"Cecilia Jane Frobisher, neé Wells. 8th October 1967 – 16th June 1997. Desouled. Rest in Peace."

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A/N: Well, what next? Please review, your thoughts are always valued 8-)


	23. Desperation

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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"6, 8, 10…", she counted as she scanned the house numbers along the row. "..14… Where's 12?" She briefly scanned back to where 12 would, _should_ have been before looking up and down the street. Grimmauld Place. How she had found her way there she did not know but she knew she had to find it in London's multitudinous streets.

She looked back at the door as large raindrops, the kind that are the prelude to a heavy downfall, began to drip around her. Last time she had a letter. This time she just hoped that it would work. In her mind she imagined the letter, picturing it as clear as if it were in her hand now. "Please arrive at 12 Grimmauld Place, London, on 15th July, at 10.30pm". It was all she had: a hope that if someone were home they could perhaps hear her thoughts.

Nothing. She sighed and sat on the steps that purported to be shared between Numbers 10 and 14 too tired even to smile politely at the man and woman who were walking their dog in the small square green which was the central focus of Grimmauld Place as the thoughts that weren't hers compelled her to contact the people beyond the door…the person beyond the door…of Number Twelve, the door which didn't exist. Who were these people? She knew, but at the same time did not. Right here, right now, sitting on the steps becoming wet with the rain a few more precious memories were washed onto the shore of her mind as they had done over the last few days.

She turned and looked over her shoulder before clambering to her feet and scanned the number. Number Twelve. The door hadn't been there when she'd sat down and this time, in an old-fashioned script, "Number Twelve" was clearly visible and vague half-thoughts began to jump through her mind, like a dream, or a dream of a dream.

A further deluge of rain drenched her as she pushed her feet down onto the wide stone steps outside the door. She knew who was going to be there…she could remember Sirius Black…she remembered Grimmauld Place and what he had tried to do with her there. Raising her fist, Cecilia Frobisher knocked heavily on the grime-black door. Yes, she knew him. And she also knew how she could help him.

Besides, what else did she have?

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Sirius Black opened his front door. It was unusual for anyone to be calling nowadays; the Order generally used the pirated floo network that the ministry had yet to discover, but it must have been one of them: Dumbledore had only ever given the password to the Order. Unlatching three of the door fastenings before pulling on the handle he looked upon the face of a ghost becoming saturated by the monsoon-like downpour. Cecilia Frobisher stood on his doorstep looking lost and bedraggled like a helpless kitten.

"Sirius." Her voice was weak but tinged with hope. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Cecilia!" Gobsmacked was not a strong enough word to describe how he felt at that precise moment. "We thought you were…you were supposed to be…" She stared back at him, wide-eyed and Sirius looked her up and down as she became even more drenched before pulling her in by the elbow and pushing the door shut behind her. Even out of the rain she exuded moisture, most of which was collecting as puddles and soaking into the elderly blue Wilton carpet that lined Number Twelve's hallway.

"I don't know why I'm here…I don't know how I got here…" Cecilia continued, wondering why Sirius Black, the usually unflappable and presumptuous wizard looked so astounded. "My memory's a bit addled…I remember…" She trailed off, her temples pounding underneath her dishevelled hair.

"It is you…Cecilia?" Sirius asked, looking at her face carefully before shaking her by the arms and she stared back at him with a doleful look.

"…I need to know it's you…"

"Why?"

"We thought you were dead…" Cecilia reached for her temples. At some stage over the past few days she thought she had been. Living and breathing yes, but with no recollection of anything at all for some time. The nurses had told her she had been in hospital for three days and she had since tried to figure out exactly what had happened. A doctor had visited her in Greater Whinging General claimed it to be, predictably, amnesia probably caused by a blow to the head he had said, but he was far from able to explain the absence of such a blow. She was, to all intents and purposes, physically fine. Except that she couldn't remember anything and felt upset, miserable and distressed.

"…felt like I was…" She looked at Sirius. "I remember some things," she said earnestly. "I remembered the letter I received from Mr. White. I remembered it word for word; it was the only address I could remember. And I know you, Sirius, at least I think I do." Cecilia looked down at the sodden carpet. "I didn't know where else to go. Things seem…muddled. But I need you to take me back to where I was working."

"I need to know it's you, really you," said Sirius, still holding onto her arms. "Tell me what you remember." Cecilia closed her eyes.

Jumbles. Lots of memories that seemed like a tangle of wires which had somehow become crossed and chaotic. Flashes of memories came and went but she had little or no context of how they fitted into her life.

"…I don't know where…or how…it's all very vague…"

"Where did Snape take you?" Sirius continued to hold her and watched her as she thought.

"Snape?" She shook her head. And then the image of a street filled with detached brick houses hoved into view. "Privet Drive," she replied. "Privet Drive! Not Grimmauld Place! I thought he was taking me here but instead he took me there…" Sirius was still staring at her strangely and Cecilia frowned as her plan, glorious in its detail upon the backdrop of an impoverished mind began to dwell in her consciousness. "…that's all I remember…"

"I need to know it's you," he repeated, his hands becoming slippery on her upper arms as the water from Cecilia's clothing began to drip over his hands. "What were you wearing when you came to the ball at Christmas?"

"What?" Both muggle and wizard were staring at one another intently.

"Tell me what you were – "

" – a silver and blue fade dress," replied Cecilia quickly as she described the mental image that had suddenly appeared. "And you were wearing your father's dress robes." She could tell from his expression she had surprised him and he nodded slowly. She tried to focus on Sirius's face as her mind began to make connections a lightning speed.

"What did I give you on the morning of your birthday?" Cecilia forced herself to keep herself composed as emotional, hurtful things rushed into her hitherto peaceful mind.

"Some of you hair," she replied, feeling her face glow red and she looked at the carpet again. Remus…Harry…Snape…Mrs Dursley…Dumbledore…it was coming back to her in chunks though not very nice ones. She closed her eyes but Sirius shook her until she opened them again.

"What did Moony give you on the night of the ball?" Sirius persisted, his hands tightening around her triceps. Cecilia felt herself blush again at the possible answers to this question.

"A brooch, of his grandmother's," Cecilia snapped back, frowning in frustration. "Sirius, please!" she pleaded. "I'm not myself…you asking me these questions…can't we just go back to Hogwarts? Or back to the cottage?" Instead of letting go of her Sirius brusquely escorted her further inside Number 12's hall.

"Put that out of your mind," he growled, flicking his hand towards the open doorway that Cecilia was even now realising led to the living room. "I don't suppose you've forgotten about magic?" he added with a hint of grudging as she watched wide-eyed as a copy of the Daily Prophet sailed its way into the hall and into Sirius's hand. Cecilia's mind re-remembered the newspaper at the Dursley's house and the one at the Natural History museum, where her mind had sent her off to that afternoon and a pair of twins fleeted across her mind. Fred and George: it had to be them. In amongst all of this they had realised how cut-off she would be feeling and sent her encouragement. She'd had a lot to thank them for.

"This," prompted Sirius sharply and he let go of her left arm and pointed towards the headline on the day before yesterday's Prophet and Cecilia left the thought of what she had been doing that afternoon and read the words, her mouth falling agog.

"Famous muggle scientist sought by ministry in persecution campaign murdered. Ministry claims security breach in defence of using dementors." Ignoring Sirius's expression she read on.

"Cecilia Frobisher, the muggle woman who discovered the so-called Universal Link was desouled yesterday in Little Whinging by two dementors."

"They got that wrong then, didn't they?" Cecilia's attempt at a quip fell on deaf ears and she continued to read.

"The ministry was alerted to Mrs Frobisher's presence in Surrey by a pupil at Hogwarts School, who chanced upon her in the home of a muggle family. The ministry claims that, as a high security case Mrs Frobisher had caused unacceptable breach of defence that endangered both muggles and wizards and as such had no option but to dispatch Mrs Frobisher as humanely as possible. Several high-ranking ministers are said to be outraged at the decision and are calling for an investigation into the incident however Mrs Frobisher's body was not recovered making a full enquiry impossible for the foreseeable future."

Cecilia looked at Sirius, whose face was firm and unyielding and she tried to recall what it had been like to face those dementors. Terrifying, yes. Misery-inducing certainly. But the last thing she remembered had been Petunia Dursley's face over the shoulder outline of the second dementor as a strange feeling not unlike pins and needles had overcome her and she had passed out, as if the hideous creature had been systematically emptying her body of any thoughts and feelings.

She had awoken in hospital with three separate things in her mind; at the time she did not know that they were connected. Sirius Black. A letter containing the details of her engagement in employment and the address to which she must attend. The answer to the question which she and a colleague of unknown had identity had been pursuing for several months.

And then that morning Cecilia had remembered something else, like a bright shiny gem on a shore of stones as she leafed through a magazine that one of the nurses had brought to her after encouraging her, after showering, to dress in her clothes which had been laundered. She'd discharged herself from hospital and caught a train to London with some money she had been given that was apparently on her when she was bought in and then a bus to…the Natural History Museum.

Cecilia had sat there for several hours waiting to see if more of her memory would return before asking the information clerk kindly how she would go about finding out where a street in London might be. The clerk had smiled kindly at her before directing her to the local library around the corner.

"Remus!" Cecilia exclaimed as her fiancée's face appeared in her mind. He was always there. "Can I speak to him? Or, can you take me home? Or to Hogwarts?" She felt her heart sink as Sirius dropped the newspaper onto the floor, took her by the arms again and shook his head.

"But…I need to tell him I'm alive…if he's read the "Prophet"…" She tried to push past Sirius and look into the living room. "Can you tell him?"

"Yes, when my visiting pass for Azkaban arrives…"

"What?!" Cecilia shook her arms free and balled up her fists, placing them on her hips insistently.

"He's been arrested," explained Sirius. "He's in Azkaban."

"What…what for?"

"For aiding and abetting a reciprocator, for murders…and Lucius Malfoy claimed he bit him so, as a suspected werewolf, they've put him in Azkaban with any other werewolves that turned nasty during interview. The bloody fool Malfoy thought it would be okay to question him during a full moon."

"And you let that this all happen?" Through her dishevelled appearance Cecilia gave Sirius a withering stare.

"We tried to stop it," Sirius replied defensively. "Moony insisted he wanted to go back to the cottage after you'd been taken off by Snape. He got most upset. We knew the ministry was coming to take him in but by the time Dumbledore got there they'd overpowered us and it was too late. He went with them without fuss."

Cecilia looked away, and fixed her eyes onto the blue hall carpet and she felt her knees sag as the strength to hold her upright rushed away.

"…Remus thinks I'm dead…and he's locked up in Azkaban for being a werewolf…for murders…" She looked at Sirius in horror, begging him silently to take it back.

"Murders he didn't commit," Sirius replied softly, "but he can't prove to because he was with me in the Forbidden Forest being a werewolf and if I tell them that they will have him for being werewolf."

"But they know he's a werewolf!" Sirius sighed and looked at her solemnly.

"Those who the ministry believe to be a threat, even without evidence, have been arrested and put into Azkaban. They originally claimed he was breaking the werewolf code. Without Malfoy they would have sent him there anyway.

"They can't do that!"

"They can if they think it's a threat to the wizarding community, which is why they were looking for you. But Dumbledore is there at the Wizengamot now fighting for their release…what's this?" He looked down at the piece of folded paper which Cecilia was holding out to him and Sirius went to take it. She closed her hand tightly round for a moment before letting go.

"It's my theory. Not Harry's potion. It's the link to his lycanthropy…I know why the moon affects him and I know how to cure him…but it's all for nothing!" Cecilia concluded disconsolately and she grabbed it off him, stuffing it into her pocket. "Just a stupid, stupid mess." Sirius said nothing as he watched Cecilia Frobisher hang her head before pulling her towards him and letting her sob into his chest.

"Look, you need a clean up," Sirius said eventually as Cecilia's wracking sobs began to wane and she looked over her shoulder at the door to the living room through which she had stepped with Snape at the Yule Ball, and with Tonks the year before when she'd taken Cecilia to Diagonalley. She took a move towards the door but Sirius barred her way, stepping in front of her and, whipping out a wand he flicked it in her direction. Cecilia's mouth formed an "o" of astonishment as she turned from bag lady to presentable Polly and she looked back at Sirius before nodding awkwardly. It was just a pity that he had not been able to fix the cuts and bruises from her ordeal four days before.

"Don't look at me like that," said Cecilia with hint of self-consciousness, "I'm not that bad."

You are, Sirius thought, look at your face, battered and bruised. But he said nothing and waited for her to speak again.

"There were three things which I remembered this morning when I left hospital," said Cecilia slowly. "There was this address, there was you and there was…" She trailed off wondering how it was that the hypothesis had come about.

"When you visited me at the cottage and told me about your brother and horcruxes," she continued, looking at Sirius carefully. A flicker of recognition passed over his face.

"But that was just me being silly," he laughed dismissively, "you look much better now," he added, looked her up and down, approving the sight he saw.

"No Sirius, no," Cecilia protested. She took a step towards him and stood inches from Sirius Black, raising a now-clean hand to his mouth. "It wasn't…you believe it…!"

"Shh," he said to the top of her head as he embraced Cecilia again, "you need to rest…and…you're right," he conceded, "I do believe it. Look, no-one's here…unusual I know, but the rest of the Order will be here soon…there's a plan in the offing that's going to happen in the early hours of the morning."

"Can you tell me what's been happening, Sirius?" asked Cecilia, her voice muffled against his robe.

"Dumbledore left Hogwarts; he has put the plan into place and we must carry it through… the rest of them don't want to suddenly realise you're here…if you want to carry on with the plan, the only place I can put you for safety is my study…no-one comes up there…" Sirius shook his head as Cecilia prised herself from him. "The most over-riding thing at the moment is what Voldermort is planning. If the plan ends up at the ministry, then we will have to fight him there, Severus thinks he has the potion right now." Cecilia smiled and waited for Sirius to return it.

"Come on, and then you can tell me all about your ideas about Regulus and the horcrux."

Cecilia followed Sirius through the deserted living room towards the staircase and she looked around as she went. The Yule Ball was the last time she had been here, at Grimmauld Place. It seemed like a lifetime ago when the Order had been there and she had been able to think of no-one else but Remus. She looked past Sirius and began to climb the stairs too, recalling how the last time the two of them had been there he had been chasing her down, intent on destroying her work and, through Kreacher, her. All that time, all those events and now Remus was imprisoned and the wizarding world believed her to be dead.

Two flights of familiar stairs later and Cecilia was standing outside the study that Sirius begrudgingly called his own and, when he was feeling resentful, called his father's and the wizard put his hand on the handle.

"Sirius," said Cecilia softly. "You believe what you told me, didn't you? You're not just humouring me?"

"I believe it," said Sirius, his voice taking on a rough edge. "It's as I said to you at the cottage…something about my brother and his capture just doesn't sit right…he was taken off by the ministry and his memories stored…but your idea, your idea about science – "

"Sirius, are you up there?" Cecilia jerked her head towards the familiar voice and something inside her made her want to call out.

"Molly," said Sirius quickly, pushing open the study door. "Look, if they know you're here then the plan won't go ahead tonight. Snape'll want you to look at the potion and it'll all get delayed. It has to be tonight…tomorrow morning otherwise Dumbledore's plan won't work…do you understand?" Cecilia nodded dumbly. The plan had to come off. She had to see Remus again and the ministry would have no choice but to let him and the other werewolves out of Azkaban when there was no more threat to them from Voldermort. "No-one will come in here," he added. "Don't leave." She shook her head as Sirius closed the door behind him and they both stood in the study looking at one another.

"I have to ask…I need to know…how did you escape?" Cecilia swallowed. She knew Sirius would ask her that question even before she had boarded the double-decker bus that had brought her out to the London suburb in which Grimmauld Place was situated. She shook her head.

"I don't know. The last thing I remember were the dementors pressing down on me and then the stripy plastic curtain in hospital. But – " Cecilia stared at Sirius before looking around the study.

" – there was another witch there when I was out on the street…she's in the Order…I've met her before but if its her she's not a witch…"

"Why were you on the street?"

"Mrs Dursley pushed me out and there was some confusion…" Cecilia was looking up, past Sirius and at the high thin shelf that skirted the room as the memories returned to her mind sharply and in pieces.

"Petunia Dursley?" asked Sirius doubtfully and Cecilia looked at him and nodded.

"Yes. She said she knew you."

"Yes. I helped her out of a tricky situation once…so that's where you were," he mused. There was long pause as Sirius stared at her. Cecilia was about to ask what he was staring at but Sirius walked over to the desk and handed her the parchment and a quill and ink case that was on the desk.

"If you're serious about unravelling it all." He watched her examine the objects that he had give her. "To help you think. I will be back as soon as I can. Oh, and you might need these." Sirius crossed to the bureau that stood to the right of the door and pulled open the front hinged drawer extracting the bundle of semi-recognisable paper. Cecilia put down the parchment and quill and took from him the DNA traces that she had originally run when she had visited Nick Smith at home.

"There's more than just your originals," explained Sirius. "They were left here for safekeeping but I think the real reason is Snape. He's stuck."

"I thought you said that he'd done it?" asked Cecilia, recalling their earlier conversation but Sirius shook his head.

"He thinks he has, but he's stuck, I'm sure about it. Could you just check to see what you think? I can then give him your musings."

"A message from beyond the grave," said Cecilia darkly. "I'll take a look but to be honest it looks obvious to me, so I know it'll be obvious to Severus." She looked at the traces and the corresponding parchment, wrapped up in the centre. "Actually…he's made some pretty wild assumptions about a couple of things…" She looked at Sirius. "I'd be better off investigating what you told me about your brother," she laughed but there was no humour in it.

"Do whatever you need – "

"…I need time, to work on it…" she looked around the study before realising that Sirius was looking her up and down again as if she were a ghost.

"I'm real," she said eventually. "I'm not dead."

"And you are quite well?" Cecilia nodded as memories, like sparks, exploded in her mind.

"…thank Merlin you're safe," he said staring at her before turning, opening the door and striding through it.

Cecilia stared at the closing door, wondering about what she'd just heard…or rather, what had appeared in her mind…or rather…a feeling…

…it had gone as quickly as it had come, making her shiver and its swift departure made her wonder whether she had actually imagined it…

An advancing headache made her wrinkle her forehead in discomfort and, as she put aside her confusing and conflicting emotions Cecilia began what she was expert at, being useful.

88888888

Another letter. Again it was addressed to Severus Snape and again it had been sent from the same person as last time. There was one difference though, and that was the address. Snape held the envelope low in his lap and read over the address again. Petunia Dursley had sent the letter to Spinner's End.

She wanted to help, she had written. She was horrified at the events that had happened on her own doorstep and she believed that Cecilia Frobisher's body had been taken by the muggle emergency services.

Snape read the letter again and thought back to a time long past. Petunia Evans was not the sort of woman who let go her stubbornness easily: she had clearly swallowed her pride to write to him although her words were staccatoed and factual with little feeling or flowing.

But it was what Petunia had sent with the letter which interested Severus Snape more. She had sent him something of which he knew he would not be in possession had Cecilia Frobisher never been traced to Lupin's cottage or if Dumbledore had not arranged for her to be hidden at Privet Drive or even if she had not been killed by the dementors. These items were personal, things which he knew Cecilia, were she to be alive now, would not have shown him.

Leaning forward in his chair Severus Snape laid out the notes, written in rather untidy scrawl with additions and crossings-out dotted around, and looked at them. Not looked at them as in read them rather, examined their form and shape. This was the last thing Cecilia had written, the last piece of research she had done. Petunia Dursley said as much in her curt, clipped style. They were enough to help him finish Harry's potion or make the one for Lupin. It would be enough, Snape was sure of it. But only one.

Screwing up his fist and cursing silently to himself at the unjust situation he was in, Petunia Dursley's letter within it before flinging it into the fireplace and, reaching for his wand, conjured a blaze before the paper reached it. Then he turned back to Cecilia's notes and read them, this time taking in their content again.

Uncharacteristically absorbed in the work he did not notice the appearance of a figure in the doorway and it was only when Tabitha Penwright knocked politely on the thick oak door that Severus Snape realised that the Muggle Studies teacher had been staring at him and what he was doing.

"Professor Snape," began Tabitha. "You seem quite absorbed there." She was determined not to move or jump when Snape gave her a withering stare, as she knew he would.

"Indeed," he intoned. "As you can see."

"Dolores sent me to find out whether the information in the package that you brought with you to the castle this morning contained knowledge about the potion you are making for Harry Potter, or about the Universal Link."

Tabitha's change of tactics seemed to work for Snape, rather than barring her way or cutting her down with barbs, leaned back in the chair and gestured, opened palmed, towards the writing in front of him.

"Be my guest," he invited. "If you can make anything of them, you are more than welcome. They are of no use to me now Cecilia Frobisher is dead." Tabitha shot him a wary look before making a move on the sheaves of paper on his desk. At long last they were what she had been searching for, what she had paid penance for through hours of teaching ungrateful brats and assigned to office duties. Umbridge hadn't sent her, of course but Tabitha had seen Snape with the large enveloped letter incautiously secreted under his robe as he climbed the stairs in front of the Great Hall and had taken her chances that she would be able to procure something which may win her a chance to return to the ministry.

When she had arrived it had been wearing, tiresome and something she had readied herself to get on with. Now she had procured dementors, shared more than she'd cared to with Snape regarding the Department of Mysteries and witnessed the death of a muggle. Tabitha was more than ready to throw the whole thing in and this gave her uncharacteristic daring.

Reaching towards them, her hand was stayed as Snape put his own round Tabitha's wrist. She looked at him in alarm as he leaned forward and glared at her.

"You do realise that you're in it as much as I when you read these," he snarled. "No longer will you be Umbridge's pet poodle bowing to her every whim and desire. You will have knowledge brought into being by someone whose intelligence is vastly superior to your own and who gave her life for this. Once you read this you will be no more able to resist its conclusions than dandelion clocks can the wind."

"Cecilia Frobisher is gone," replied Tabitha curtly as the horrifying image of the woman being attacked by the dementors she'd co-ordinated chose that moment to invade her mind again. "And that is due to nothing other than her interference in wizard affairs." Her firm tone was not mirrored by her actions though for, as soon as Snape loosened his hold, Tabitha withdrew her hand.

"Professor Penwright, why are you here? Surely you knew what you must have been taking on by coming back to Hogwarts? Surely your days here yourself told you that this was no mean feat?" Tabitha shot him a steely stare before bowing her head. She had done it because she had been scared of Dolores Umbridge, that the Undersecretary would take her from her job. What a price she had paid for it: teaching here with brazen, undisciplined children; abiding comments about her inabilities; shunted from one secretarial, unskilled job to the other in the ministry.

"You didn't come to find me for these," intoned Snape stepping uncomfortably close to Tabitha and lowering his face slowly towards hers. "You came to show me something." Tabitha mutely shook her head. "Or tell me," he added.

"The veil," she replied as the proximity of Severus Snape became too much to stand. "I have to get back. If you have anything to tell me that I can give to Umbridge I'll be gone. I won't be here and I'll be back in the ministry and you'll be able to mourn the desoulment of Mrs Frobisher privately." It was more than just a guess. Fleeting and swift Snape's mind was undefended for a mere second but it was enough for Tabitha, her own diminished ability clicking into action, to discern.

"Umbridge has a plan," she continued, concealing her satisfaction at the expense of her boss's secret. "She is hoping that now Dumbledore has gone someone will make a move that will betray him." Tabitha looked up earnestly at Snape who snorted and folded his arms doubtfully.

"You don't believe me? Why do you think that so many of the ministry's best aurors are here, tearing the school apart?" Tabitha realised her voice had gone thin and reedy as incredulity overtook persuasion and she was trying to understand why he couldn't see the sky was blue, or the grass was green. "They've found nothing by the way, nothing that they think is important at any rate."

"Shouldn't you be with them? Seeing as they are from the ministry?" Tabitha watched his lip curl in mocking, mocking her dogged loyalty that she had displayed when he and Sturgis had appeared at her office door.

"Perhaps I should," she conceded defensively. "Perhaps I should do a lot of things. Perhaps I should inform Umbridge that she had been looking in the wrong place and she should allow the aurors to investigate the contents of some of the potions in your classroom?" Tabitha looked back into the Potions classroom wherein several cauldrons in various stages of manufacture were sitting innocuously. "I know for a fact that these are not in the curriculum."

Tabitha took a step towards the door and made to walk back down the steps but a swish brought her attention back to the room's occupier. Snape was holding his wand toward her, as if to attack.

"Stop…Severus," she said warningly, grabbing her own, "I may not be as powerful as many but I still know _some _spells." An age passed during which Tabitha wondered whether they would be at stalemate forever, neither one trusting the other.

Just when she was about to drop her own and concede defeat however Snape marched past Tabitha, down the steps of the office and into the classroom. Tabitha followed, intrigued and she watched the wizard march towards the shelves to the right of the steps on the longest wall, looking along the spines of a few books before extracting a slim volume. He paced back towards Tabitha and handed her the book. She looked down at the title. "Magic and Muggles."

""Magic and Muggles"?" Tabitha read before flicking through a few pages at the articles therein and recalling the time, that summer before leaving for Hogwarts, when she had been sent her own copy of the book. Before she had thrown it into a fire in frustration at Christmas that year.

"You wish to unravel the secrets of the Universal Link." Snape's words were a statement not a question and Tabitha found herself shaking a little as her hand closed over the treacherous tome. "You have "Mysterious Mythology"", he continued, looking intently at her. "A lesser woman than you, magically speaking, started with just these. I suggest that you use them to derive the connection yourself and _stop wasting my time_!" He pushed past her and marched back up the steps into his office.

"What?! Wait!" called Tabitha after him before following him up the steps. "Snape, what are you doing?" From his position in the tall, black chair Snape looked at her, and then at the book.

"You have a misplaced loyalty to the ministry because they accept your limited abilities. You no more want to assist them than you want to assist the Dark Lord." He glanced at the book, clasped tightly in Tabitha's grasp. "You no more would now, I confide."

That's where you're wrong, thought Tabitha grimly. You wouldn't believe what I have done in the name of the ministry. Instead she nodded deferentially, feeling an inner glow of humiliation.

"You're right, Snape," she confirmed, nodding slowly. "Whatever is planned I do not want to stand in the way of anything."

"It is nearly perfected," Severus Snape replied. "It will not be long before you are back in your department solving your mysteries again. All this will be over." Despite everything Tabitha felt herself express a brief smile.

"Yes," repeated Snape getting to his feet. "This will finish him. You are right to trust us as Mrs Frobisher did."

Ten minutes later, Tabitha replayed the mental image that Snape's parting words had evoked and she recalled the fateful day when she had set loose dementors on the wizard world's most wanted person. A few students strode past her as she stood on her watch that Umbridge had decreed she serve outside the Gryffindor common room because she had come up with nothing of worth for her, sniggering in veiled contempt amongst themselves. Tabitha ignored them and stared back at the portrait of an elderly wizard noble whose portrait hung directly opposite where she was standing. She was there for the duration, that she knew. She hadn't dared asked for qualification of the time she must serve from Dolores Umbridge.

A blush of shame began to play on her pale features, making a mockery of the whispered insult which the Ravenclaw students had just whispered under their breath, not because of the pigmented wizard's coquettish waving from his frame every so often but because what Snape had said. She _was_ a freak, although he had not chosen that moment to use that particular word to describe her. She fell between the cracks…she fitted into neither world…

He had not actually said it, Tabitha reminded herself, but a further chink in his mind had allowed her so see. Strangely it was not his thoughts in themselves that Tabitha was concerned with. The image of Snape at the Department of Mysteries appeared in her mind and she identified that moment as being the one where she first had doubts about the ministry…before that she had unquestioning faith. But what had upset her was that she beginning to suspect that what Severus Snape actually thought was true.

Harry Potter was one of those students who slipped past Tabitha, giving her a contemptuous look. This was not, in fact his intention; indeed his expression was oblivious to him as he concentrated on concentrating on what he was going to say to the person he intended to meet. Indeed, Harry found the person in not too short a time in exactly the same place that Tabitha Penwright had found him an hour before.

On finding Severus Snape a small but intense exchange took place whereby both older and younger wizard a) asserted their loyalty to i) Dumbledore, ii) the Order iii) Cecilia Frobisher; b) both expressed regret at her demise c) both reiterated their position with respect to the potion and d) revealed something to each other that the other was totally unaware. By the time Harry was walking back up the teaching corridor and back towards the common room both had had one position about the near future reinforced and, crucially, a strongly-held belief completely overturned.

88888888

Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room looking down at his arm and feeling the prickly sensation of his scar hurting. Sitting back down on the settee he recalled what had resulted from his conversation with Snape. He had made it to supper, just, and had slipped next to Ron just as Umbridge began her nightly speech. Their new headmistress had begun the tradition upon the departure of her predecessor and had gone from lauding the students' honesty and trusting that they would come to give her the required information about several suspected plots against the ministry, pausing briefly at various stages of annoyance and disappointment that not one student had been to speak to her, despite her promise of confidence before beginning each dinner with a reading from several ministers' election-winning speeches designed, Seamus observed wryly, to bore them to death.

Harry had returned to the common room having been taken aside following dessert by Professor McGonagall who had been charged with the inauspicious task of telling him that he'd been barred from Quidditch due to his stubbornness in revealing what he knew about Dumbledore.

"But I don't know anything about Dumbledore!" Harry had insisted, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "There's nothing for me to tell Umbridge." The McGonagall had raised her eyes doubtfully but had said nothing more.

He was still smarting from this and his argument for Snape as he watched the flames in the grate. The evening was warm and light, a breeze dancing at the window which would otherwise have elicited feelings of carefree abandon but for Harry the ambience felt treacherous and duplicitous.

"I can't believe they're making us go to lessons still." Behind him Ron's voice permeated his solemn thoughts and he turned to look at his best friend. Ron spotted Harry and threw himself onto the settee next to him shortly followed by Hermione.

"I can't believe that Dumbledore's been replaced by that old witch," remarked Harry, smiling in acknowledgment at Hermione. She smiled back and took Ron's hand.

"Yes, Umbridge _is_ a witch," said Ron conversationally. "But I know what you mean."

"Why did Dumbledore just go like that and let her in?" continued Harry darkly, glaring at the coals in the hearth.

"Perhaps she didn't have a choice, Harry?" asked Hermione gently. She swallowed quickly when she caught his expression and expected him to get angry with her. Instead he nodded a little.

"Fred and George have more than earned their keep with the practical jokes," commented Ron. "They would have got caught with the over-bred blast-ended skrewts in the ornamental suits of armour outside Dumbledore's office but Shacklebolt found them and disapparated them before they went off. Apparently they made a big splash in Ullswater."

"…he just stood aside…that's what I can't get over…" Harry looked between his two friends, hoping that upon their faces the answers he was seeking would be made plane.

"And Professor Penwright's gone."

"What? From outside?" Ron nodded. "Good," declared Harry. "I can't believe how useless she is."

All three fell silent, contemplating the failures of their Muggle Studies teacher." Eventually Hermione leaned forward and looked at Harry, her face a picture of circumspectness.

"There's a plan, isn't there? Something he's up to?" Harry said nothing. His scar had been causing him to have vivid visions, or memory slides, if Sirius were to be trusted. His scar had ached when he had seen what Snape had in his mind just as it ached now. Then it was Mrs Frobisher. This time it seemed…Snape did care about something other than himself.

"I think there's going to be something happening soon…" he said distantly. "What Dumbledore said…" Harry's voice trailed off and he realised his friends were poised expectantly on the edge of the settee.

"Something…" Harry repeated, "but what? I can't afford to wait to find out. I have to work it out before the something happens…"

"We," corrected Hermione quietly. "And it'll be something good," she continued, leaning forward as more Gryffindors entered the common room. "Listen, I overheard Snape tell the McGonagall that the last potion that Mrs Frobisher made was exactly right!"

"Was that before or after she told me I was off the quidditch team?" asked Harry bitterly. Ron gave him a sympathetic look.

"Harry, you're not listening" She leaned across Ron and lowered her voice. "I wonder if Dumbledore knows about this." A babble of noise behind them caused all three of them to look over the back of the settee. "Look, it's not private here," Hermione whispered.

A few minutes' later they were sitting on the cold stone of the Gryffindor Tower, the door locked by at least three different spells.

"I wonder if Dumbledore's been told of this…" Hermione wondered aloud again as the last rays of the by summer's evening became trapped in the tower with the three friends. "Just think, if Voldermort had delayed his return by a couple of months you could have taken that one and defeated him straight away."

"Yes, I would really like to have faced Voldermort with no powers and gone about cursing him with an unforgivable curse, Hermione. I'm not looking forward to this, that's all I'm saying," he conceded at his friend's hurt expression.

"You did before," commented Ron evenly. "How's this time going to be any different?"

Harry said nothing. He didn't know why he had taken the potion last time, only that Snape and then Mrs Frobisher had done it and also he had become so accustomed to the fact he was supposed to take it, it made sense at the time to do so.

"He's growing stronger. Voldermort." Harry looked past his friends and towards the tower's slatted windows.

"Are you certain? How do you know?"

"I just…do." Harry looked earnestly at his friends. "And it's got something to do with the Department of Mysteries. I don't think that Pasty Penwright was here by accident. Huh!" he exhaled, frustrated. "I'm on my way to knowing. I just need to – "

"We can't do anything. You mustn't, Harry," she added when he glared at her sharply. "No doubt the Order has something planned around your appearance whenever Voldermort shows up again. You promised to let us help you. You shouldn't leave," she added insistently.

Harry said nothing for a few minutes. He wanted to point out to Hermione that it was a bit rich her saying that, when she had agreed with Mrs Frobisher to make a variant of polyjuice potion and giving it to her…or Ron, proposing marriage to Hermione, something that neither of them knew that he knew about. When the breeze was in the air anything seems like a good idea at the time. This time though, Dumbledore wasn't here. Even if the ex-headmaster of Hogwarts said that Hogwarts was the safest place for him, as he had done when he had shared the knowledge of the prophecy with him all Harry knew was that if he was to believed anything he believed that Voldermort was going to reappear at the Department of Mysteries. His latest memory slide had confirmed it for him. When the time was right he would leave to join the Order and fight."

"You don't have to leave," said Ron eventually when Harry had not replied. Their eyes met in mutual friendship, mates since the age of eleven and Ron had opened the sliding glass panel on the first-class carriage in which Harry was sitting.

"He does," said Hermione sighing deeply as she extracted a letter from her pocket and handing it to Harry. "The last letter I received from Mrs Frobisher. I might have corresponded with her, but so did she, and she was the one in hiding. She obviously thought the risk was worth taking."

"More science," said Harry, reading the information contained within the letter, the panic in Hermione's voice and Ron's enclosure of her hands in his passing him by. "I'm okay at it, but – " he looked back to Hermione.

"You're good at magic, very good," Hermione reminded him, glancing at Ron.

"Yes, but – "

"Magic and science are the same thing," Hermione explained. "It's two different ways of looking at the same thing. There are certain things we can't do as wizards."

"Spare us the lecture," said Ron, distractedly. "Get a move on, Hermione or we'll miss the chance of fifth year supper."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Hermione. "Food is one thing that cannot be changed by magic."

"Yeah, we know that," said Ron, his boredom at the conversation overriding his earlier urge to offer a shoulder to Harry."

"Yes," confirmed Hermione, the pitch of her voice rising sharply. "We eat loads here, much more than muggles."

"So?"

"Food can't be altered by magic," concluded Harry. Hermione nodded.

"Food is not transmutable. We need far more of it than muggles do as energy for other things. For energy for – "

" – magic!" finished Harry, his own tone imitating Hermione's.

"Tell me how this is useful," said Ron, folding his arms.

"It's not in itself," Harry shook his head, "but…"

"It helped me with this…the trace." From her other pocket Hermione pulled out something Harry had only ever seen once before, and that was because it was his own. A DNA trace. And then, something else which Hermione had secreted between her jumper and t-shirt. A wand.

"It's Penwright's. Her old one at least. She thinks she lost it ages ago, but she can't use it, she's never been able to use it."

"But she's a witch," interjected Harry and Ron together. Hermione nodded.

"And so is Neville, and sometimes he has difficulty with spells…potions…magic. Mrs Frobisher's letter seems to say that it depends on how much someone is a wizard, which can depend on the situation as well as the witch or wizard. Neville has the ability to be a really powerful wizard, but he had always felt second to his parents. It's a confidence thing. Maybe it's like that with Tabitha Penwright too." Harry read the letter again.

"This seems to say that…" Hermione nodded as Harry trailed off into silence as he read the letter again.

"What? What does it say?" asked Ron, huffing in frustration, now truly lost. "Harry?"

"It says…it seems to say…that my aunt…my Aunt Petunia…has the ability to be a witch!" Harry looked incredulously between Ron and Hermione. "Mrs Frobisher talks about her genetics…but…no! It can't be true…can it…?" Harry's beseeching look was heartbreaking and it was all Hermione could do to prevent herself from offering shallow, meaningless comfort.

"She knew about dementors, without you telling her; Mrs Frobisher's never normally wrong…why couldn't she be?" asked Ron, voicing Harry's thoughts, those he could not bring himself to express. He got to his feet and began to tread the floor angrily. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"She's called me a freak all my life! There's no way…I'd know…!"

"…are you sure? Harry?" asked Hermione. "You have to be sure, for your sake!" But Harry shook his head.

"No. I don't care about all of this. No offence Hermione, but most of this is academic. Sirius…Sirius told me not to take the potion. He told me that Mrs Frobisher wouldn't want me to, and it would be an insult to her memory. But..." Harry shook his head as if refereeing an internal quidditch match, "…it's to do with the Universal Link. She managed to work it all out…I think she'd want me to – " He broke off and reached for his head. His mind was too full, his thoughts too tangled and confused as he sought to accommodate this new information.

"The Department of Mysteries," Hermione reminded him as Harry stopped pacing and slumped back down next to her.

"Okay, what do we know about it?"

"It's mysterious," commented Ron unhelpfully. Both Hermione and Harry shot him a look.

"Penwright works there," said Hermione. "You said that yourself. And there's two different types of people working there, Unspeakables and Mysteriour."

"It's where the soul anyone who dies in the ministry's custody goes to the Department of Mysteries," chipped in Ron.

"How do you know that?" asked Hermione hotly.

"How do you know everything you know?" he retorted, looking from Hermione to Harry. "Dad told me," added Ron, defensively.

"Then the trace must be on Mrs Frobisher's soul!" declared Hermione, joy and lightness expressed together. "It wasn't me!

"Cowards! shouted Harry. "They must have got a piece of Cecilia Frobisher's soul from somewhere before showing it to the dementor that caught her…it would have been straight there!" Harry got to his feet, pacing around determinedly, as if something had just come to mind and he was trying to organise it again before "Alohomora'ing" the door open.

"Where're you going?" asked Ron and Hermione, springing up together onto their feet.

"I've got to do it. That's where it's going to happen and not just _because of the prophecy_. Of course! The prophecy!" He looked between his friends, tinge of mania behind his excitement. "The horcrux, the one Dumbledore told us there's one to find right?" Hermione and Ron nodded synchronistically.

"It's at the Department of Mysteries! It has to be…it all fits!"

"So?" Ron put a hand on his shoulder trying to steady his friend. "You can't do anything about it now, not from here." At his words Harry burst into a wide grin, hugging his bemused friends.

"That's why I'm going to take the potion. Voldermort'll reappear there, bet you every galleon you have. The Order'll be there and so will I." He nodded at Hermione and Ron again, continuing to smile.

"When the time comes, I'm going to take the potion that Snape's made for me. I'll have no powers and I'll have to say the Unforgivable at the right moment. When I'll do, it'll be for all muggles and wizards who've died under Voldermort's hand. I'll do it for Mrs Frobisher's memory."

88888888

Sirius Black opened his front door. It was unusual for anyone to be calling nowadays; the Order generally used the pirated floo network that the ministry had yet to discover, but it must have been one of them: Dumbledore had only ever given the password to the Order. Unlatching three of the door fastenings before pulling on the handle he looked upon the face of a ghost becoming saturated by the monsoon-like downpour. Cecilia Frobisher stood on his doorstep looking lost and bedraggled like a helpless kitten.

"I'm so glad to have found you." Cecilia Frobisher threw her rain-drenched arms around an astonished Sirius Black, burying her head into his shoulder. Her breathing turned into wracking sobs as she held herself against his shoulder. He was astonished she had found him, astonished and surprised and…

…and he was kissing her…kissing her tears away…

"I came here because I realised I could never love Remus like I love you…" Cecilia's eyes shimmered in the dull rain-drenched afternoon light making his heart contract as she reached for his hand and he took her in his arms and kissed her, in a long and drawn out way…in a way that would let her knew he really meant it…

But Cecilia had broken off quickly and looked urgently as Sirius.

"There's something I need to tell you. I'm not a muggle…" From her coat she pulled out a wand and held it out for his scrutinisation. "And before you say it, I know you're his friend, and he's in Azkaban, but I don't want to think about him…"

"...come here…"

"If I hadn't done it, _they_ would have," said Snape, irritably. In Sirius's mind the scene faded, having been entirely imaginary as Severus Snape's contrasting tone cut through the daydream as a hot knife through butter. "I was doing him a favour, Miss Tonks," he added, folding his arms.

"Doing him a favour? Are you kidding me?!" Tonks was on her feet and stalking around the kitchen of Number Twelve. "He barely remembers his own name let alone mine," she huffed, folding her arms and gave Snape a sulky look. "He keeps calling me Amy! And he forgot we had Freya! Forgot to get her from school! The child was frightened…!"

That was it. Sirius's attempt at recapturing his thoughts about Cecilia were all but done in and he realised Tonks was staring at him. Sirius turned away and pretended to stifle a yawn. The meeting was going on far too long and had disintegrated into a slanging match. He wanted to tell them that Cecilia was upstairs, tell them that she was not gone and restore a measure of the happy hope that most of them felt before she arrived at Grimmauld Place the first time.

But then there was his selfish side, the side that usually won, in the end. He could just sit there and he could keep her…keep the secret that she was in his house, pretend that she had come to him. She would be perfect and she would be his…

In his mind's eye she was getting tired and she had crept off to find somewhere to sleep. Cecilia had found his room, not decimated as it now remained since Moony's episode, but tidy and neat as he liked to keep it. She sat on the bed and kicked off her shoes before trying her golden head next to his blanketed pillow. He'd find her, and she'd cry; he'd comfort her and she would return the comfort as his distress is over his friend and about Azkaban…both two people who have lost their families comforting one another…"I promise it won't happen again…"

The words began to dissolve as the boundaries of reality and fantasy began to blur with reality, reality winning by means of Snape's and Tonks's voices penetrating Sirius's consciousness. He turned to the two quarrelling Order members as the amplitude of their argument was reaching breaking point.

"He's my husband, Severus," declared Tonks having already admitted the truth to the Order before then. Snape on the other hand was choosing to ignore her and had folded his arms and looked away from Tonks as if her point of view was irrelevant.

"Hey!" she replied sharply. "Are you listening to me?"

"Look, I think we're all getting upset," said Minerva trying to smooth things over as Snape glared dangerously at Tonks. "We have to trust Dumbledore's parting words. He has a plan – "

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like to know what it is," said Bathsheba Braddle. "We can't prepare without a plan." Sirius watched one or two of the Order nod in agreement.

"Are you sure the potions ready Severus?" asked Arthur Weasley. "Now we don't have Mrs Frobisher any more?"

"Is it going to be safe for Harry this time?" asked Tonks bitterly. "I mean, don't just make it stronger like you did with the Confundus charm!"

"And just what is that supposed to mean, _Miss Tonks_?!" Snape was on his feet, his eyes like gimlets.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Minerva, a little shrilly as a measure of alarm entered her voice. "Please, unless this has a direct impact on what we are about to do then please refrain from this coarseness! Sturgis?" She turned to the ministry wizard at the front who was holding a piece of parchment and quaking terribly.

"Indeed I do. Cowards!" he added, gritting his teeth. "Indeed yes," he confirmed as Minerva gave him a classroom stare and Sturgis coughed solemnly. "Cecilia Frobisher was called out by a Hogwarts student, having located her at the home of Mr and Mrs Dursley, Harry Potter's guardians. Two dementors were set upon her for she was deemed to be h'a risk to bowf muggles and wizards. The squib, no offence Arabella," Arabella nodded from her chair near Minerva, "Arabella Figg attempted to assist in her flight but she was too late and," Sturgis sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, "one of them terrible beasts performed the kiss which was witnessed by the witch in charge of the operation and a dozen back-up aurors!"

Around Sturgis people were looking solemn and sombre, as he recounted the tale: Snape's stare was fixed at the fireplace; Bathsheba's arms were folded tightly across her robe; Mr Weasley was holding Mrs Weasley's hand. Each of the Order had heard the news of course, but now it was official.

"I just can't believe…our own son searched their house!" Mrs Wesley's face was pale and she w speaking to her husband loudly as if not caring who heard.

"Percy ordered it," Arthur Weasley explained to the Order, "he's in the Department of Communication...by all accounts he was there when it was confirmed and took it upon himself to act."

"Don't say his name," whispered Mrs Weasley to her husband and Tonks, who was standing next to her hugged her shoulders. The room was quiet for a good few minutes and Sirius wondered what would happen if he were to bring Cecilia down from his father's study. Eventually Snape stood up and spoke.

"We, that is to say I, have information which means the potion will be ready for Mr. Potter. It is unlikely that it would have been solved if she hadn't gone to the Dursley's house. We wouldn't have…what was needed." There was silence; vacuousity. All in the room had listened to Snape but no-one acknowledged him or commented to the effect. At the reaction to his explanation Snape sat down in silence.

And then a round of applause began, starting from Bill Weasley and radiating out to the other wizards and witches.

"…Mrs Frobisher!" he was cheering, "…for Mrs Frobisher…"

Sirius looked up. He hoped that the noise would not permeate upstairs and that Cecilia would not hear and make an appearance downstairs. A reappearance from the grave would likely bring about a halt to everything, and that couldn't happen. Just then, a _crack_ in the living room brought the applause to an abrupt end with those in the kitchen as one wizard looking at the door.

"Shacklebolt," intoned Snape as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped through. "I thought you were supposed to be at Hogwarts." The wizard nodded his head slowly at Snape in acknowledgement and looked around the Order members who were still there.

"Kingsley?" prompted Arthur Weasley. "What is it?" The highest-ranking Auror closed the kitchen door slowly and gazed around at the wizards again, this time with an air of solemnly.

"I've just come from Azkaban I was indeed at Hogwarts this afternoon, Severus," he conceded, "but I was sent back to the Ministry. It has been deemed that…any of the last consignment of prisoners guilty of attacking a witch or wizard representing the ministry under cross-examination is to be eliminated."

"…the last consignment…?" echoed Tonks. "Do you mean the so-called half-breeds?"

"Indeed so. I am so sorry, Tonks," Kingsley added as murmuring began around them.

"You're sorry? Why?" Tonks' voice became more high-pitched and an air of panic entered it.

"You mean the werewolves?" interrupted Snape loudly.

"Indeed," replied Kingsley, looking at Tonks before glancing over to Sirius. "They are to use liquefied flixweed. This is the likely fate of one of us for attacking Lucius Malfoy."

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Sturgis Podmore. "That is indeed horrifying!"

"More horrifying than Malfoy being made into an auror?"

"One of us?" asked Molly, looking around at the Order members. To her left Tonks had gone white and had sank down onto the chair next to Snape who, in turn, had turned sallower.

"Remus attacked Malfoy," explained Kingsley and those who had not caught on earlier were joined by the rest, expressing various states of shock and revulsion. "He is one of those to be executed and I am given to understand that the flixweed toxin is quick." Shacklebolt shot a look at Snape who jarred his head in affirmation.

"Can Dumbledore stand for him?" asked Tonks, getting to her feet and beginning to pace around. "When he is taken for trial?"

"There is unlikely to be a trial," replied Kingsley, "he knew the werewolf code, even before they tightened it. In any case the only thing the ministry cares about is the elimination of half breeds. Their corruption is likely to spread to spurious claims in any case and any breach of the werewolf code would be used against him."

A crunch in Sirius's stomach caused the wizard to get to his feet. He looked down before looking at his cousin straight ahead of him and then sat down. Silent words began to scream out in his mind, blocked in his throat from becoming said.

…everything was worked out, Cecilia Frobisher, he thought fiercely, you were going to be with my best friend, you were going to stay together and live a wonderful life. You were going to be with him and my knowing this would mean you were out of mine…I would eventually have forgotten you…and now...

"We shouldn't try to stop things," Sirius said, looking around him. "Dumbledore has engaged us all in the plan. Kingsley, is there any way you can stop what is happening, delay it or something?"

"I'll try," replied Kingsley doubtfully. "I'm not sure there is much I can do though. Dumbledore's not at the ministry."

"He's not?" gasped Molly and Arthur took her hand. "I was convinced that's where he would be. Has anyone heard from him?"

"Not us," said Kingsley and Sturgis in unison.

"We assumed you all knew that he has made no contact with the ministry," continued Kingsley. "_We've_ got everything worked out, haven't we?"

"Everything? Are you sure?" asked Arthur Weasley. "We have Dumbledore's instructions, but…can we work out what he's got planned? Did he plan it?" Sirius leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. The plan had to go ahead, for everyone's sake…

…a vision appeared in his mind of a woman two floors up no doubt sitting on the floor with the books and information she needed spread out around her just as she had done in those countless moments in the glimpses he had stolen.

…the only thing I could not work out was why my heart could not get over you…and now look at the state everything's in…

He realised people were staring at him and hoped he hadn't said aloud what he had been thinking.

"Sirius do you have a contribution?" He shook his head and the discussion about whether Dumbledore's original plan should go ahead or whether they should wait for further instructions continued.

…and what have I done to help anything? Sirius questioned of himself silently as he looked round at the miserable faces. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. As the conversation around him trailed off with the decision that they were going to proceed as planned decided. He got to his feet and shook his head.

"You've remained strong Sirius," said Molly kindly as the Order dispersed. In the corner of the room Bathsheba was holding Tonks's hand. "You've done things honourably and selflessly.

"Hm," he replied as fleeting guilty images crossing his cerebellum.

"What we all need is some rest and everything will be as it should be," added Molly, following Arthur out. "We must be brave and strong."

Sirius smiled wanly at the retreating figure of Mrs Weasley and he thought about the big, muggle-sized secret he had kept from the Order. It all had to go to plan. He had to be brave and strong.

He watched as Bathsheba led Tonks out of the kitchen and took her upstairs. His cousin was clearly shocked, but not as shocked, probably, as he had been when a damp and apparition-like figure had stood on his doorstep that evening.

Why did you come back here, Mrs Frobisher, to tempt me so cruelly?

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A little known thing about floo powder is that, if the person to whom the message is intended is not by an available chimney or hearth at the exact time a message is sent, then the message remains in the floo network until the person is (or in this case persons are) in close enough proximity in order to retrieve it.

The two young wizards intended for this message, sent almost twelve hours before in response to the recipients' kind actions got the shock of their lives on two counts: one from the fact that the message-sender they believed to be dead and second, that the face of said message-sender appeared ethereally in a fireplace in a room where they technically shouldn't be.

Once Fred and George Weasley had got over the shock of seeing Cecilia Frobisher's face in the fireplace of the new headmistress of Hogwarts, their purpose for being there was all but forgotten.

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A/N: How's my fiction? Please review!


	24. The Last Resort

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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…you need to take me there, Sirius…

It was evening five days after she had been murdered and to be honest Cecilia Frobisher felt from well. She had been at Grimmauld Place for just over six hours and over the course of time many things had become apparent.

Dumbledore was nowhere to be found: she had overheard this as part of a conversation between Mrs Weasley and Bathsheba Braddle as she left Sirius's father's study on the way to the bathroom and although the two witches' conversation appeared calm but Cecilia could detect a mild undercurrent of panic in Molly Weasley's voice indicating things were not as fit as the conversation would otherwise imply.

She had asked Sirius about rejoining the Order. Well, not entirely asked, but the answer had come plainly and simply through Sirius's conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt that morning. The Order's position was dire and they needed to act fast without changing their plans if the delicate balance of events that was to happen and despite the fact that Cecilia had stayed up most of the night to work on validating the potion and Sirius's theory about Regulus Black the meaning penetrated her exhausted mind like a hot knife through butter. Certainly Cecilia coming down the stairs and walking into No. 12's kitchen would be enough to upset any plans the Order had made and if there was any chance of the battle being won and her Remus being freed she had to take it.

The anaesthesia of work had almost eradicated the feeling of emptiness and loneliness she had felt on her way to Grimmauld Place that had been emphasised by Sirius's revelations. Almost. A small, deep knot, like a ball of pitch sat in her chest, poised to ignite into an inferno at any second. She had to keep concentrating, Cecilia knew, otherwise all would be lost.

Apart from a venture to the bathroom Cecilia hadn't left the study. She had worked on into the evening, through reams of paper in order to verify of the potion that Snape and had uncovered several answers which matched with what she was thinking but, Cecilia had to conclude, in the course of pursuing answers further questions had arisen. Snape seemed to be almost there, somehow though Cecilia could not fathom where he might have gained the information from. She pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring the grating of discomfort in her mind and she contemplated what she knew to be right. 

Harry needn't take the potion and risk it. That had been her first conclusion, but not just from the absence of evidence from the traces. Sirius had told her that Snape had managed to get what he claimed to be the finished blends for both base and match but Cecilia wasn't convinced. She needed more evidence…more time. This is what she had sought in the first place but, from the sketchy details procured from Sirius, which in turn had been derived from her own work and further DNA analyses (Cecilia had mused on their origin several times that day) there seemed to be a fundamental flaw.

Here was the problem: where exactly the fault lay in the potion Cecilia could not be certain. What she did know was that if Harry did go through with it, it would not be right. What would be more certain and certainly less risky was to approach the attack on Voldermort from another angle. 

Regulus Black. 

When Cecilia had arrived on the doorstep of 12, Grimmauld Place she had known there was something out there connected to Sirius's brother and even though she had stood on the doorstep and not known exactly what it was Cecilia had known she could help. As she cross-referenced information, wrote down, amended, scribbled through and added to her notes about Harry's potion her mind had periodically returned to the conversation, which was becoming more complex and rich in detail at each recollection, that she had had with Sirius Black when he had been sitting on the settee in Remus's cottage having companioned his friend in the Cumbrian mountains. Even now she didn't know any other details but in her heart of hearts Cecilia knew an alternative answer lay with Master Black Junior.

Time and again she ignored her thoughts and focused on Snape's interpretation of her notes, and now, as Sirius's mother's portrait screamed something insulting for the twentieth time since she had arrived Cecilia tried to focus what exactly was wrong with the potion and she cleared her mind as she looked around for the hundredth time at the books on the shelves, the very books she had used to try to get to the bottom of the Reciprocator mystery six months ago. Now they seemed less oppressive, more tired and faded in the summer sunlight. The day before Cecilia had been uncomfortable in their presence mainly because of the last time she was there…when she had got some information from the books…when Sirius had confessed to her how wretched he felt about his family…how he had come on to her…

But…being stuck here for even half a day, hiding for her life…the sickening loneliness…Cecilia had not to stretch her mind too much to imagine exactly the motivation Sirius had because of being stuck in Twelve, Grimmauld Place and why he channelled his hatred towards her.

"…you need to take me there, Sirius…"

Cecilia whispered the words that had been in her mind for several hours to herself now as she carefully replaced a volume of the Black family tome, the volumes of which Sirius had unashamedly shown her and she watched white sparks dance along the shelf she replaced it. That seemed like the only viable option at this late stage…as the chequered flag was in sigh…before the final whistle…before the kick into touch…whatever the Order's plan was, and however he wanted her to be involved, this was the only way forward. The only way she could be with Remus again. 

And, as a wave of nausea caught her breath, the selfish part of Cecilia knew that this way was the only way if she wanted to remain unbefuddled. All other plans relied on her being caught, or at least open to her memory of the last year being lost as a dream.

Cecilia crossed the worn carpet, past the chair in which she had been sitting and poring over the traces and to the opposite side of the study. Her mind had gone over so many possibilities, from staying to listen to Sirius's plan; leaving and going to the ministry to beg for Remus to be released; commit a wizard crime large enough to be put into Azkaban…

"What would you do, if you were me?" Cecilia looked up to the painting of Phineas Nigellus hanging solemnly and colourless over the fireplace. "I mean, if you were a muggle like me, put in charge of something so great you barely contemplate when your inner most desire is to rescue the man you love. What would you do, Phineas?" 

Would you stop Snape from giving him the potion that he believes to be safe? Cecilia smiled wanly at the lifeless portrait. Of course you wouldn't. You're a wizard. You think yourselves immortal. You take risks. 

Cecilia looked down and into the fireplace, its unresponsiveness mirroring that of Nigellus's portrait. It was not dissimilar to the one from which she had sacrificed the last of her floo powder that she had found in Remus's cottage's cellar. 

Her mind scrolled back to when she had left the hospital as Cecilia made her way back to the chair she had been sitting in to read the DNA traces and she considered what she had been given back to her by the ward sister: the letter from Aloysius to Betty Lupin, some floo powder and a comic strip. Cecilia had stared at the names of the authors as she had sat in the waiting room of the hospital and, as she did so, a gem of salvation had seized her…and she knew what she must do…

Leaving the hospital suddenly Cecilia had found a town hall, open early for a sale or a fete early that morning. The building had been open, and at the back, had a fireplace. Cecilia had locked the door from the inside before throwing into the fire the floo powder. And then she had sent two messages, hoping with all her heart that the recipients would get them. 

As memories began to embed in her cerebellum she sat on the thin, dirty daisy-patterned carpet in the town hall in Great Whinging, ironically a smaller village than the former, and allowed what few memories she had reacquired at the hospital re-introduce new ones to her brain, reflected on the situation. Her mind had been lost…so addled and confused…she had felt so shocked at the fact she could barely remember her own name or what she was supposed to be doing. But the memories returned, like reality after a deep dream and when Cecilia had enough information she left the house and continued to walk, hitch-hiking to London and making her way to the Natural History museum.

And deep down, although it had taken her an afternoon in the museum waiting for more memories to return Cecilia knew where her dark thoughts were leading her. In a way she had always known…Grimmauld Place…London…No. 12, Grimmauld Place. At first, she couldn't put a name to the thoughts…but they were still there…

…and when she had finally known where it was she needed to go and had gone to the local library to locate Grimmauld Place the word slotted into place as easily as her name…

…it had been at this destination she'd sought that her complete isolation, humiliation and shame had been set down…

…misborn…

Once she had this word in her mind Cecilia had known what she must do. It was the last resort but it would work.

Her head jerked sharply as the door to the study opened bringing Cecilia back to reality and Sirius walk in carrying a tray. He smiled at her slowly and closed the door behind him, padding across the floor swiftly.

"The Order's just going," said Sirius as he placed the plate down onto the table between the two wing-backed chairs. "Some are still here yet. Molly made dinner. Thought you might like some." He gestured towards the tray before conjuring two plates into existence.

Cecilia nodded. She _was_ hungry. It had been a long time since breakfast at the hospital the morning before and, apart from a polo mint that the taxi driver had given her she had had nothing since then.

"Yes, thank you Sirius," Cecilia said feeling her stomach lurch. She was hungry…but she also felt sick. She withdrew her hand and shook her head.

"Look, you must eat," said Sirius, coming closer and stooping near her chair. "What you've been through, and you said yourself you've not had much…"

"What I've been through…" Cecilia repeated, before clenching her fist and closing it tightly as another wave of nausea passed through her. She hoped Sirius hadn't noticed for he had been prone to fussing since she arrived back from the dead on his doorstep and she smiled inwardly when Sirius turned to the tray and took a cup from it as she grimaced.

"Well, if not anything to eat, what about a cup of tea?" Handing her the cup Sirius withdrew his wand.

"Apparato char!" he declared and the dark brown beverage appeared in the empty cup. Out of habit Cecilia watched the path of the wand from Sirius's robe until he had replaced it. Cecilia breathed out with relief and Sirius looked at her sharply.

"You seem calm, considering," he said, looking her up and down.

"Calm," repeated Cecilia. "I'm not calm," she replied, getting to her feet. "Remus is locked up in Azkaban…you know what it's like in there Sirius. I can sort the potion, though. I just have to – "

"I need to know the potion will be safe for Harry." Sirius got to his feet too before following the retreating Cecilia over to the fireplace. When she did not reply, he stepped closer to her looking at her intently.

"Whatever the Order's plan, it's not going to work without the potion," said Cecilia softly. "What Snape had here isn't right." Sirius looked at her in alarm before pacing back and forth before the fireplace, clearly agitated his distress showing in every wrinkle and crease.

"I knew it! Snivellus couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery! He had your notes and all these traces and everything! He said he'd done it!"

"And he did, with the evidence that's here," replied Cecilia, trying to make her voice soft as if to calm an injured lion, gesturing towards the table between the two wing-backed chairs. "But there are things he couldn't possibly consider, things which, as a wizard he couldn't easily fathom." That's why we made such a good team, Cecilia added, but silently to herself. 

"Now I have sorted through the rest of those and considered everything and Severus has made the potion for Harry tonight, that's when I'll be calmer. When all this is over and Voldermort is defeated, Remus will be free. I can think of it in no other way. I'm close to an answer, something which Severus will be able to make for the Order's plan of attack tonight. You've just got to trust that that I'm thorough just like I was with the lycanthropy cure." Their eyes met but before Sirius could reply Cecilia strode past him and back towards the table.

"Are you saying…would it…really cure him? You told me about it before, but…" He followed her back over to the table, watching Cecilia pick up a couple of the DNA traces that were lying upon it. Instead of replying she turned and reached into her jeans pocket, pulling a now-crumpled folded piece of paper that she had originally shown Sirius when she had arrived at Grimmauld Place that morning.

"It's all here. All I have to do is ask Severus to make it and then Remus just needs to wait for a lunar eclipse…" Cecilia trailed off as she saw Sirius jolt.

"How did you know about…how did you find…did Remus tell you?" Cecilia shook her head.

"I worked it out. It wasn't hard…why didn't you tell me about it? There I was thinking you'd have a wonderful evening out there when in fact he was suffering so much."

"I think he would have told you in time," said Sirius softly. Cecilia bowed her head.

"Sirius, I miss him so much!" She tried to hold back the emotion that was driving her to ignore everything in front of her and just cry pathetically. Instead she gripped the DNA traces tightly in her fist and sank down into one of the chairs.

"Is there anything else I can do? Cecilia?" Sirius bent to her level and looked at her carefully. "Anything else you need?" He pulled on the other chair and dragged it closer to Cecilia before sitting down in it heavily. A few moments passed before Cecilia looked at Sirius. You need to take me there, Sirius. I need to be there, to help.

"Yes," she said firmly getting to her feet. "Take this to Severus." She handed him the paper on which she had made a couple of minor adjustments in both the base and match and Sirius stuffed it into his robe without looking at it.

"And…tell me of the plan."

"The plan?" he asked, his voice not quite pulling off an innocent protest.

"The plan that the Order has," Cecilia prompted. Sirius sagged, the battle lost.

"Sit down. This is difficult enough for me," she nodded.

"You told me of metty physics," he continued. Cecilia nodded again but didn't interrupt. Instead she waited for Sirius, who had grown paler and looked nervous, to continue.

"There is a place in the ministry where the past is…well, not _stored_…but exists. Voldermort put his soul into seven objects that the objects connected to Hogwarts and the founders to make himself stronger." Horcruxes, thought Cecilia.

"My brother stole one and destroyed it. Dumbledore has another. If the objects can be reunited then they will bring down Voldermort. That is the Order's plan, with Harry taking the potion to defeat him. But it won't work. It cannot. Regulus took the secret with him beyond the veil! Regulus died and took the secret with him, so Voldermort wouldn't get it, but without it Dumbledore's plan will not work!"

Cecilia said nothing for a moment, watching the face of the usually self-confident and forthright wizard fade into a mask of vulnerability. That was it, she thought to herself as she held out a hand, that was how Regulus Black fitted into this. Sirius took her hand and looked at her.

"You said it was destroyed. I thought when they were destroyed the soul fragment became reunited with the rest?" Sirius nodded.

"He put it…beyond the reach of any wizard," he clarified, this time screwing up his own fists, his knuckles paling to white. Cecilia changed tack, placing down the creased DNA traces and looking at Sirius as he had looked at her moments before.

"Can you tell me more about your brother? What can be done about this?" Sirius nodded again, gazing at her and shuffled forward.

"I don't know…I…just don't know," he sighed. "I cannot stop the Order so my role in all of this is set. Damn Regulus! He just knew when to take it too far!" He fixed Cecilia with a stare before bowing his head.

"My brother…" Sirius shook his head as he looked at his knees before glancing back to Cecilia. "My brother…I've told you this before, in not so many words, he wanted to be like me, rebellious, unruly, disobedient…all those things we are as a teenager," Sirius added. 

All of those things that some don't grow out of, Cecilia thought wryly, but said nothing and waited for the wizard to continue.

"He couldn't bring himself to stand up to Mother and Father; he couldn't go against the family's wonderful traditions! He became a Death Eater. He was seventeen!" Sirius shook his head, as if lulling a long-forgotten painful memory back into slumber. "I just wish I could have stopped him, Ce…everything was about the glamour to him…" Cecilia sighed and proffered a hand as Sirius trailed off. The wizard looked at it before getting to his feet.

"Things are often very glamorous at that age," Cecilia continued, glancing through some of the other traces on the table. "So many temptations…such irresistibility…" 

Especially those things with a firm foundation, thought Sirius grimly. When things are more firmly set the more desire people have to rip them apart and come between them. Is it because they want the thing? Usually not. Did Voldermort want it intrinsically, or would ultimate power in any form suit him…was it mere temptation and desire to control?

…when things are more firmly set the more desire people have to rip them apart and come between them…

…did he want her because his best friend had her…because she was a desirable woman? Sirius looked back at Cecilia and said nothing. He wanted her to be more than that: he couldn't accept that she wasn't a witch. Without Moony, could he see his life with her? Did he want to get between them because their bond was so strong and it was too tempting? Because he was trying to prove something to himself after those years being stuck in Azkaban? Sirius forced his lasciviousness out of his mind and focus on his brother, sighing outwardly but hoping that Cecilia wouldn't try to touch him again.

"Regulus wanted out and he took the opportunity to take something of Voldermort with him…the horcrux. Because of his family…because he's a Black…Regulus had become one of Voldermort's inner circle and he trusted him. Voldermort decided to kill once more, so he could split his soul into the seventh piece…stupid boy…!" Sirius got to his feet and, taking Cecilia's unresisting one which was resting on her knee and pulled her up.

"Come on!"

"Where to?" asked Cecilia as she caught her breath. Around her the study that had become her own prison whipped past her peripheral vision as Sirius led her determinedly out of the door and onto the landing, turning left and then right, pushing through another door. Closing it behind them Sirius let her hand drop, stepping into the centre of the room whilst Cecilia, her mind coming to terms with her rapid change in scenery.

"My brother's room," he said with a hint of reminiscence in his voice. "Regulus's room." From the black, spindly-legged dressing table Sirius picked up a picture, one of his brother playing quidditch, his long black hair becoming tousled in the wind.

Cecilia took it and examined it under the light. Regulus Black. He was even better looking than Sirius, more handsome and refined, without the lines that his older brother had, even at the same age. But…even playing a game that he clearly loved the boy possessed a haunted look…a look she had seen before.

"The Black bloodline stems from the first wizards, those that broke away from muggle society." Sirius took back the picture and looked at it himself. "They were the founders of the Glorious Division…the ones who sought to make a world without muggles, so our ancestor separated us from muggles, to exist without us being together." Cecilia nodded. She knew all this, of course, because of her knowledge about Raymond Lully and the Reciprocators. It was Joseph Black, the first Black, who had used his influence in the Wizengamot to organise the isolation and vilification of muggles because of his conflict with his ex-research partner, the scientist James Watt.

"But he could not completely separate muggles from wizards. They married and interbred… bore children. Joseph ensured that none of his descendents would marry anyone of that ilk." Cecilia nodded again. She knew that part of the story too. Honoria Black married Malfus Malfoy, not the un-named muggle who, the Black family legend told, she had sought permission to marry.

"Regulus is…was…the youngest of the youngest Black." Sirius walked past Cecilia and propped up the animated picture of his brother playing quidditch on the dressing table. "He himself alone was the closest to the original founders of the movement. There were always two brothers, always the youngest had the most power. It was Regulus himself that Voldermort needed, as if his followers were a collection, like a prize. But Regulus betrayed the Death Eaters in order to put himself beyond reach. Voldermort rendered him to the point of death but the ministry found him…oh, he was bound to get mixed up in that pure blood nonsense…he used to be mother's favourite…jealous…and then he rebelled." Sirius shook his head, as he continued to stare at his brother's image. "He copied everything I did."

Sirius's voice fell away and he paced back over to the bed.

"Dumbledore cannot release the last horcrux because Regulus's memories contain it…a master stroke..." Sirius sighed and looked at the purple and green swirled carpet. "What Dumbledore has is what Voldermort believes Dumbledore to believe is the last horcrux…it's ironic because Voldermort tortured and almost destroyed my brother when he betrayed him. He didn't know. He still doesn't. My brother committed suicide in order to put the part of Voldermort's soul that he had stolen beyond the reach of anyone. Beyond the veil thoughts exist: if they can be modified then we can change the past. Voldermort will not exist now, for he will not have existed then….Harry will have been an ordinary boy, concerned with the usual boy things like girls and exams, not worrying about fighting the most evil of wizards." He looked at Cecilia gravely. "I am going beyond the veil. I am going to find my brother and release the horcrux so that the order's plan works. I have to stop Regulus from making himself the final horcrux then he would not have committed suicide in an attempt to stop Voldermort."

Cecilia said nothing as she fixed her mind on what Sirius had said, or more specifically one part of it. Going beyond the veil meant that he could change the past. If Sirius could stop Regulus from capturing the last horcrux or from Voldermort making the horcruxes, then perhaps Remus could be saved from being bitten by Fenrir Greyback?

"If you discount the final piece of Voldermort's soul, could this account for the energy in the potion that Harry is to take." Cecilia shook her head and began to pace.

"I can't be sure. Besides, the potion recipe sitting in there is right now. Tell me," she said, looking directly at Sirius. "Was Regulus attacked by Voldermort before or after he attacked Harry?"

"Before."

"Then the energy with which he attacked Harry was the same when he lost it to your brother. There is no need to consider it in Harry's potion…unless…" Sirius raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

"Unless I'm wrong about it…no," she shook her head again before heading over to the door of Regulus Black's room, flinging it open and marching down the corridor back towards Sirius's father's study.

"Hey!" Sirius called out after her. "Where're you going? Stop!"

"I _am_ right!" exclaimed Cecilia, glancing over her shoulder as an alarmed Sirius belted along the landing after her, closing the study door behind him. "If I'd have done what I needed to do, with Lily's sample this would be over by now." She handed him the paper again, containing the recipe for both parts of the potion. This time, rather than ignoring the paper as he had done so earlier Sirius pocketed the blend recipe.

"Not necessarily…" His voice trailed off when he saw the expression on her face and watched her crumple where she stood.

"Oh my love…" She put her hands to her face, turning away from Sirius and began to sob. "I can't bear the thought of you being in there…when I'm here and can't help you…when I know those feelings that you must be going through…"

She did not resist when she felt Sirius encircle his arms around her comfortingly and she put her head on his shoulder. Fighting the urge to kiss the top of her head Sirius Black found that he was crying too…

…but not wholly for the same reason…he felt…felt her…so vulnerable and sad…it would be so easy to…he wanted her…

"There will be a final battle," he whispered in her ear through her hair his breath warm on her skin. "It will happen in a few hours' time. Voldermort has regained much of his former strength; your potion did a lot of damage last time. Harry is to be involved; in fact he's vital. He doesn't know it yet but he'll find his way to the ministry and search for an item in the Department of Mysteries…this will alert Voldermort…he will take the potion…Snape will have perfected it when I've sent off your alterations…" stepping away from Cecilia he took the parchment from the table and glanced over the ingredients and method. 

Cecilia felt herself shudder as what felt like a weight, a knot of worry drop from her stomach as she saw Sirius accept what she hoped was the last tweak the potion needed. It had worked. Or rather, it should work. But one worry was replaced with another….Harry was to face Voldermort again.

"The battle will take place at the ministry in the Department of Mysteries…I plan to be there, to fight at long last. At the appropriate moment I will pass beyond the veil to locate and retrieve the horcrux." Sirius sighed. "It consists of memories of things past, things that can be changed if weaved in a slightly different way, such a large pensieve...the veil is one way only nothing can get back out once past.

"And this is in the ministry?"

"In the Department of Mysteries," nodded Sirius. "The veil is definitely a mystery…it represents the belief that a mystical force or etheric fabric separates the world of the living and the dead. "The veil is said to become thin at the season of Samhain or Halloween and at this time souls may return to the world of the living."

"But Halloween is months away…" Sirius nodded at Cecilia's acute observation. 

"People have gone beyond the veil…it is thought possible to influence the souls…it's dangerous…there's a risk of becoming lost in there and never finding your way out." Cecilia looked at Sirius in alarm. 

"I intend to go through the veil and face the danger…I'm not afraid of that…but I was afraid of never returning to my family…never seeing Harry again." Sirius's voice dropped low and he looked at the carpet. Cecilia stepped towards him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me everything you know…let me help you." She stepped away from Sirius now, her mind racing with possibilities and she walked over to the bookshelves by the window. "There's nothing you're telling me that can't be helped by science." Reaching for a book at random she pulled at a volume of the Black family tome, pulling on its spine as the volume fought to remain on its shelf.

"Here." Sirius appeared beside her and whispered a few words. Immediately the book ceased its resistance and Cecilia pulled it from the shelf.

"There will be a way," she repeated, looking at the title on the book. "I don't consider anything to be absolute." Sirius stepped closer to her, kissing her on the forehead. 

"I knew there would be," he said as Cecilia made her way back to the table. I wouldn't trust you with my life otherwise…you are...uncommonly skilled, Mrs Frobisher. I know now why Remus loves you so much." At the tone of his words Cecilia jerked her head towards Sirius. The wizard handed her another parchment this time with the seal of the Department of Mysteries on the back. She put down the book, taking the parchment from Sirius's unresisting hand and opening it up, before sinking down into a chair.

"I shouldn't have this," said Sirius matter-of-factly. "When Remus disappeared with you at Christmas, after I…well, after I declared you misborn – "Cecilia felt herself redden, " – 

Dumbledore gave me this."

"He wanted you to go? He wants you to go beyond the veil?"

He is the only other person who knew Regulus had taken Voldermort's soul with him, and even then I had to confirm it. Dumbledore didn't ask me to go but he gave me the choice, put this before me…listen – " Sirius moved his chair nearer to Cecilia and craned his neck towards her. Cecilia put down the parchment and looked at him expectantly.

"When I met with Remus the night Severus gave you the wolfsbane potion at the cottage all those weeks ago I tried everything I could to convince him not to marry you." Cecilia felt her eyes widen and her mouth open in shock. "I felt threatened…I convinced him not to tell you about the effects of the Lunar Eclipse…I was scared…I still wanted to be a part of his life, an important part where he needed me…" Cecilia continued to stare at Sirius, not knowing precisely what to say.

"My arrogance, of which you have been quick enough to have quite rightly accused me – " he leaned forward towards her, his heart beating quicker as he looked upon her tired, greying face, taking in her lank, dull strawberry blonde hair…beyond the tiredness and age, and worry, at the glow, a glamour, that had always attracted him…

Instead of raising her voice though, Cecilia smiled and folded her arms. Sirius leaned back suddenly, reality filtering back in.

"Devil's Advocate," she said simply and then her face fell, the sorrow which she had been bottling up for weeks running over the brim and she looked at Remus's friend, words that she had repressed tumbling from her lips and she got to her feet.

"We almost had it Sirius, Remus and I. I never told him about the cure…" she shook her head, "…it would stop him from being a _werewolf!_ We could have got married and had children…I was learning to be a wizard, if not physically, but…up here…" she tapped the side of her head with her forefinger as Sirius stood up too. "I could have written the modern muggle studies curriculum…I could have helped to cure any werewolf that wished it, starting with my Remus…"

Sirius stopped his advance in Cecilia and stood stock still. Here was the limit now. Something…someone he could not have for his own. 

"We went to his house when we were younger," replied Sirius. "I couldn't imagine you wanting to stay there forever, you're right…I had plans to convince him not to stay with you…I thought it would prove he wanted to be with you…" Cecilia turned and looked at Sirius's sorrowful expression.

"And you did what any friend would have done, Sirius," she said gently. "It's what my friend did for me…Libby'd play Devil's Advocate and if she still hadn't convinced me I knew it was something I really wanted to do…he's your friend…thank you Sirius." Cecilia came closer to the wizard now and stroked his arm. Sirius nodded, not quit sure what he had done. When his attention was diverted he cleared her throat and Cecilia dropped her hand.

"What I need you to do is help me, using your science, to locate my brother. I have everything you might need…I have some of his hair, there are his family diaries…" Cecilia recalled Draco Malfoy's diary and shivered in repulsion when Sirius listed them in his itinerary but she tried not to show this emotion as she gazed upon the wizard's look, one of desperate yearning. Cecilia nodded.

"Of course I'll help you," she repeated, reiterating the acknowledgement her nod conveyed. "Show me what you've got and I'll get started." To her surprise Sirius shook his head.

"Before you do this…" he stepped closer to her, "I need to tell you something. Sit down." He gestured towards the study's chairs again and Cecilia walked slowly over to them and Sirius followed her.

"Remus…his arrest…he wasn't totally innocent," Sirius began. "They freed the werewolves who had not attacked a person before, but he wasn't freed because…" he faltered, swallowing quickly before relocating his word, "…because…he did attack of someone…when he was at Hogwarts…"

"You'd better tell me the whole story," prompted Cecilia leaning towards Sirius as his expression paled. He nodded and proceeded to tell Cecilia about the attack that Remus was involved in, in their fourth year, how he had been trying to make up for it ever since and had never turned his wand on the person again. How, when Lily Evans found out about the attack she tried to help him, and that had been the night the Marauders had discovered that Remus had confided in Lily about his terrible secret …how he loved her for trying to help him, but it was not the same as how he loved her…how eventually Lily's support ebbed when she learned of the identity of the person Remus had originally tried to attack.

"I know," sighed Cecilia. "There are times he avoids me; I know its to do with his illness…" The ex-adversaries exchanged knowing looks, both conveying equal concern over the emotional wellbeing of Remus Lupin, but each for different reasons.

"How long do I have?" Cecilia asked, getting to her feet.

"A few hours. The order are to attack in the early hours." From his robe he pulled out the objects that he had described and handed them to Cecilia who nodded and proceeded to examine the artefacts.

"There's also a spell, the one which Regulus used to capture the horcrux…I dare not speak it, but it is there, written at the back of the last of my brother's diaries. Can I just have that back?" Cecilia watched Sirius turn to the correct page in the journal, pointing at a collection of words and Cecilia read them to herself. Their Latin character did indeed make them sound like a spell and she traced her index finger over them.

"…something about transcending worlds," Cecilia murmured, then looked at Sirius, who nodded. "And you intend to do this too? He nodded again. Cecilia thrust the book back at Sirius, shaking her head in defiance. "This isn't everything," she declared, her voice rising and taking on a teacherly tone. "Unless you tell me everything Sirius, I can't help you. This is too little to go on in a few hours." She began to walk away from Sirius and turned, trying not to laugh in mocking. "I'm a scientist, not a miracle worker!" 

"I need your help," said Sirius, putting down his brother's diary and walking over to her slowly. "To me science is a miracle. It lets you do something that I cannot possibly do; you think things that cannot occur to me. Please…help me." And there it was. The same picture of wretchedness she had seen in that very room six months before; the look of impetuosity, pride and overconfidence all but draining from him as he stared at her, begging for her help.

"I will," Cecilia nodded. "What else do you have to tell me?"

From what seemed like out of nowhere a parchment appeared and he proffered it to her at arms length. Tentatively Cecilia took it and, unfolding it she glanced across the words, written clearly in Dumbledore's handwriting. Information, neatly communicated in the wizard's own unique way. She had been right, although there was little consolation in knowing that. This parchment told her everything she needed to know.

"_This_ is the information Dumbledore gave me at Christmas," Sirius conceded. "Although it did come from the Department of Mysteries. Can your science help?" Cecilia said nothing for a moment while the significance of what she had read sunk in. She eyed Sirius carefully before nodding slowly.

"You must promise," she began, her tone softening a little, "that you will do everything I ask without question." She looked at the words on the parchment that Dumbledore had given to Sirius. "Although I have to say that it'll be mostly magic that'll be at work, magic more than science." She glanced at the paper again. It seemed to say, in the small, neat hand that theoretically memories could be connected to one another to find souls…that a person could go through and traverse through the souls therein using memories as links… was theoretical, she'd have to work on it.

"You will need a memory…" Cecilia walked back towards the table and laid the parchment upon it. "If you are going…it says that you need one, something connected with – " She broke off when she saw Sirius's face, frozen in shock. 

"A memory? I…I cant give it to you…" He shook his head and looked at Cecilia in disbelief. Clearly he had believed that she would be able to find another way…he'd rather trust science alien to him than magic that he understood.

"What? After all we've been through…your pride is stopping you?!" The first time she had ever raised her voice in anger to Sirius had been at Christmas, precipitated by fear. Now she felt contempt, that for all his blustering, he wasn't prepared to do this last thing clearly for such gain. She watched him walk towards the fireplace and the hot red emotion, reminding her of everything she had sacrificed to be here drove her into action.

"I think you like this, that you're the centre of attention, for people to pity you, Severus...!"

Sirius stopped in his retreat and glared at her steelily.

"…what did you call me? All this time…you think I'm afraid…you think I'm like Snape?!" 

"Yes," nodded Cecilia as Sirius strode back towards her. "I think you're afraid. Afraid because you know there's no coming back!" Rooting her feet to the floor Cecilia hardened herself. She knew Sirius would bite and, deep down, she really didn't care. 

"Then you're – " Sirius made a grab for her, catching her two wrists in his one hand. When she didn't flinch he tightened his grip and yanked her towards him, pulling her arms across his torso and pressing her closer to his body with his other. Cecilia whimpered, his force winding her.

Then he let go of her wrists, still holding her to him and extracted his wand, holding it aloft. It crackled and sparkled and Cecilia couldn't help wondering whether it was mirroring his own mood. And then…

Pointing it towards Cecilia briefly he continued the arc in which his arm was moving before placing it against his temple. Cecilia watched as a memory, light like a small, high-altitude cloud floated into the air between them. Sirius looked at it and let her go like a child discarding a rag doll and he continued to hold the line of his wand as if he was controlling the memory like puff of smoke. With his other hand he reached into his pocket and retrieved a stone jar not dissimilar to the ones Snape used to bottle the potions that he and Cecilia had worked on.

She continued to watch as Sirius deftly enticed the delicate memory it into the jar, waiting for the last tail ends to disappear through the neck before placing the lid onto it quickly.

"There." He thrust the jar in Cecilia's direction. "Look after it. It's the only one I have. Now…wait here." Turning abruptly Sirius began to move towards the door, his pace brusque and hurried and rapid.

"You're not going to leave me here?" Cecilia called to his retreating back. Sirius glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing and continued to walk.

"So you expect me to come up with the answer to your prayers stuck in here?" Cecilia marched over to Sirius who was now at the door. He turned again, this time ready to say something.

"If I have to walk there myself in the dark tonight and find out where the bloody Ministry place is on my own I will…"

"Cecilia." Sirius looked her up and down, trying to banish the treacherous thoughts of pure covetousness racing through his mind and fighting as much as he could to keep them from coming into reality. He watched Cecilia's expression change and her voice dropped low.

"You need to take me there, Sirius."

88888888

"So you know the potion's not going to harm me, do you?" Harry huffed a little defensively in Hermione's direction as they crossed the cobblestones and headed back inside the castle. Their usual meeting place to discuss the unfolding events and their decisions about Harry's potion had been usurped by a gang of third years and he, Hermione and Ron had decided to use the Gryffindor tower instead.

Pushing open the door to castle Hermione nodded as they headed towards the grand staircase and Ron frowned at her, flicking his eyes to Harry.

"Snape's done the potion. I heard he'd got some information from Mrs Frobisher. You trust Mrs Frobisher, don't you? Also – " Hermione broke off and looked bashful.

"What'd you do, Hermione?" asked Ron slowly. 

"I gave Snape some of Mrs Frobisher's notes…in a roundabout sort of way…what?!" she asked defensively. "You weren't talking to me. I had to do something!"

"Sh!" hissed Ron as Hermione's amplitude was beginning to rise sharply. "We don't want everyone to hear!"

"What did you do, Hermione?" whispered Harry as they crossed the first floor landing. "Please tell me, I do want to know." Hermione huffed in an affronted manner.

"Well, if you must know, I wrote a small part, based on the theory Mrs Frobisher was talking to me about in her letters…"

"…the Continuing of Wizards?" asked Ron doubtfully, lowering his voice as they passed by a Ministry Auror who was on guard on the corridor. 

"Continuum," corrected Hermione. "Yes, that's the one. I worked out the finer details. Mrs Frobisher believed that there aren't just wizards and non-wizards, but that wizards possess a certain level of ability, some are better at it than others."

"Could have told _you_ that," said Ron grumpily. "I mean, some people are better at magic than others, and some are better at different types." 

"Well, there you are then," replied Hermione. "She worked this out herself, and bore it in mind when she amended the potion. Snape seemed to be having doubts about the corrections so I made sure he found out about the theory."

Before either of the two young wizards could ask Hermione just precisely _how_ she had managed it all three of them fell silent as they approached the Fat Lady. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing by the portrait. When he recognised the three students he winked at them and looked towards the ceiling.

"I think Gryffindor tower's occupied at the present time," he said, winking again at Harry. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks and Harry smiled at Shacklebolt.

"Thanks for the info," he said before turning to Ron and Hermione and giving them a "now what are we going to do" looks.

"The Muggle Studies Classroom?" asked Harry, looking at his friends. "No-one's going to be there now, and I'm sure you can seal it, Hermione." Harry waited for Ron and Hermione to say something. When they didn't he nodded.

"Muggle Studies it is then."

The three Gryffindors walked down the stairs again and out through the castle's main doors. Even if they were aware that someone was following them there would have been little that any of them could do. It was actually quite fortunate that they didn't know because, as we have seen, just little coincidences, chance meetings and fleeting glances are all it takes to change the course of this tale. The teacher in question in fact used one of her skills from her limited repertoire in order to, not conceal herself from the students, more to make herself very inconspicuous.

Tabitha Penwright did indeed have no students that afternoon and as a result she was heading to her classroom now in order to discover exactly what three fifth years, who had finished all their exams and now were treading water waiting for them were requiring of her classroom. Whether she would be less interested were they a different trio Tabitha was not in position to say but the facts remained.

Had she been able to find Severus Snape Tabitha might have been somewhere else in the castle now. Had she been able to fathom even one iota of information that made some sense from "Mysterious Mythology" or "Magic and Muggles" then she could have been enthralled in an academic pursuit which could have led her to a point of discovery and enabling her to put out of her mind the fact that she couldn't seem to get hold of Robert. Tabitha may well have been languishing in self-pity, licking her wounds after the particularly savage mauling she had received from her boss, angry at her inadequacies, the lack of a Link being amongst them. 

Instead, none of those things happened, with the exception of Tabitha Penwright not being able to understand any connection between "Mythology" or "Muggles" and this had resulted in one final examination of everything that had been stored, loosely speaking, in one of the cupboards in her classroom. Therefore, on realising that she would have a brace and a half of students using it for some kind of meeting, and that at least one of the students was directly affected by her own interests Tabitha felt both affronted and inquisitive and decided to follow them unobtrusively.

"Yes Ron, I understand it now. I can't believe I didn't understand it before. The Lunar men. The story about those industrialists wasn't in "Mysterious Mythology" for nothing. They were – " Tabitha fell back a few steps when she noticed a group of other pupils coming along the corridor. The three students she was following paused too, nodding at the Ravenclaws before moving on. Waiting for their cue she continued to follow at a distance near enough to hear the rest of what Harry was saying.

" – a bit like Reciprocators, but in reverse…and you'll never guess what?"

"What?" asked Hermione. Ron grinned knowingly.

"What?"

"_What_?" she repeated, glaring at Ron when he chuckled beside her.

"Not what, _Watt_," Ron interjected, stealing Harry's punchline. The latter nodded towards his friend weakly. 

"He was one of them. One of these Lunar men. James Watt."

"How is this even important?" asked Hermione. Ron did a very good impression of his twin brothers scoffing in disbelief.

"They met when it was full moon…they were very anti-wizard, or so I can gather. Matthew Boulton was angry with Watt because he had brought Joseph Black with him to Soho House. He accused Black of stealing information. Black, of course, accused Watt of the same thing. The industrialists swore that they would never trade information with wizards." The three friends paused at the door to the Muggle Studies classroom, looking up and then down the teaching corridor. Tabitha pressed herself against the wall twenty feet behind them and willed them not to notice her.

"So what's the full moon got to do with wizards?" asked Ron as he followed Hermione through the door that Harry held open. "It's not like wizards are deterred by the moon." Harry followed behind them and closed the door.

"I don't know. That's what they seemed to believe…they were wrong," Harry finished, shrugging. He walked past Hermione and Ron and began to look round the room, at the desk, piled high with curriculum-acceptable textbooks and sheaves of paper, evidence of a recent muggle-studies lesson, carried out, no doubt, with ministerial accuracy and precision.

"Looks like it's just us," said Hermione, glancing round the classroom before making her way over to the cupboard from which she and her whole class in a time that seemed so far away now had watched a teacher take innocuous objects and weave the magic of a story…places…people…history…politics…science for their education and their entertainment.

"No sign of Fred and George, I thought they'd turn up," said Harry, looking at the work on Professor Penwright's desk. 

"I did tell them," said Ron, shaking his head. 

"Looks like we're on our own then," said Hermione, glancing towards the door which, on cue, burst open. 

"Harry!"

"Neville!"

"Hermione! Ron!"

"Ginny! What are you and Luna doing here?" 

"We've come to help you, of course," said Ginny, narrowing her eyes in the direction of her brother before taking a few well-stridden steps towards Harry.

"You don't think that you three creeping around together, skulking in corners and being conspicuously absent when everyone else is present has gone un-noticed, do you?" Ginny shook her head, her hair fanning out around her. Neville and Luna nodded.

"Whatever it is, we don't care. But we're here to help you. If – "

"We don't – "

" – you need it." Neville strode past Hermione, who had begun to put him off and towards Harry, stooping to look at his friend, lowering his frame almost in deference.

"We decided," said Luna firmly. "We don't care what you're doing, and you don't have to tell us. We just want to help you. We're your friends too."

Through the now-open classroom door Tabitha Penwright peered at the students, trying to catch each word of exchange. She didn't intend to stop what was about to unfold but: six weeks of having information withheld from her had made Tabitha more than a little thirsty for intelligence. 

"I'll tell you," said Harry, smiling at the other three students who had loyally followed him, ignoring Ron's raised eyebrows and Hermione's defensive fists-on-hips pose. "We need their help, guys. But can we just close the door first?"

From the doorway Tabitha pulled herself back and stood tall, flattening herself against the basalt walls of the corridor. It was defensive, she knew and originating from her muggle background. Luna Lovegood, the student who had come to close the door would no more be able to see her than Dolores Umbridge would be able to win Witch Universe, the controversial annual beauty contest. When the door clicked shut Tabitha moved nearer the door and, removing her wand from her robe (nine and three quarter-inch, pine with Veela hair core) pointed it at the keyhole.

"Amplificato!" she whispered as loud as she dared, pressing the handle part of the wand to her ear. Suddenly the conversation, otherwise silenced by the thick oak door, sprang to life like a car radio coming out of a transmission black-out.

"…know where the horcruxes are. They need to be put back together if the Order's plan is to succeed."

"Harry, Luna and Neville don't know about the Order." Hermione glanced suspiciously at the named wizards before looking doubtfully at Harry. He nodded gratefully at his friend's observation.

"We are going to the Ministry," he continued. "I'm going to need all the help I can get to find Snape, who'll give me the potion. I have to take it at the same time as the horcruxes are reunited for it all to work."

"Then we're with you, Harry," insisted Neville. "We'll do whatever it takes."

"Thanks, guys," Harry nodded.

So that was the plan thought Tabitha, staring at the large stone slabs that lined the corridor. Well, good luck to them. She certainly wasn't to be the one to stop them.

"I've arranged with Hagrid for three brooms to be in the Owlery for us to use. We were hoping Fred and George would be here, so if it all went belly-up they could disapparate us. We'll go a little slower with two to a broom."

"So, we're going to the ministry," recapped Luna. "And, what'll we do there?"

"We'll face Voldermort, that's what we'll do there!" Ron's voice was so loud that it made Tabitha drop her wand in shock.

"Look. All of this…it's very dangerous. I'm prepared to do this on own, if necessary. If you have any doubts at all about – " 

All jerk their heads in the direction of the door as Tabitha Penwright stood firm, now as visible as she was determined.

"Pallid – " Ron began, before blushing beetroot red at addressing her using their cruel nickname.

"Professor Penwright!" exclaimed Hermione as Harry stepped towards her.

"We were just, er…um…" he faltered under Tabitha's stare.

"You were just planning your transport to the Ministry of Magic in order to join Albus Dumbledore in his latest scheme to rid the world of You-Know-Who. You will not succeed. I can help you." Standing as she was in the doorway it was the words of a slighted witch rather than the offer of information that would in the end prevent them from delaying their venture permanently. The students before her remained silent, varying expressions of defiance on their faces.

"You will tell me everything Mr Potter, or I will have no choice but to go to the headmistress. Tell me the spell you are to use to eliminate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I know that there is one: every vanishing spell accompanied by a potion has one." Still no-one answered but this time, the other five students were looking at him questioningly. Even to Ron and Hermione Harry had never mentioned the spell.

"It's an unforgivable curse," Harry conceded. "Look, how did you know? How did you find us?"

"She's a _Mysteriour_. They're very special," said Ron. Tabitha glared at him before deciding to save face by taking it as a compliment. 

"So if it's all the same to you Professor, we'll be going now," Harry concluded. All of the students moved towards the door. As they approached Tabitha Penwright raised her wand. They stopped, and stared.

But it wasn't at her whom the students were looking. Tabitha realised soon enough as a wand was pressed between her shoulder blades that there was someone behind her.

"Draco!" exclaimed Hermione. The Slytherin nodded in acknowledgement and manoeuvred the Muggle Studies teacher to one side, gesturing with his hand towards the open door.

"Thank you," said Harry as they passed. "I am most grateful." Draco shook his head.

"You're welcome. We're quits now." 

At his words Harry stopped, looking confused.

"Quits?" Hermione and Ron stopped too, as did Neville, Luna and Ginny. All six of the students looked at him, watching Draco's expression change from impassiveness to one of remorse.

"I had knowledge and informed on the muggle to _her_." Draco jerked his head in Tabitha's direction and immediately the six students in front of her fixed her with stares. "I'm sorry she's dead though. I didn't know that's what the Ministry were going to do when I told them. I got the information the Dark Lord needed But Voldermort punished me anyway…it wasn't good enough I'm not going to keep you, but you must know…he knows what to expect at the Ministry and he's prepared to win this time. 

"Harry, do you know what you're doing?" Hermione looked between him and Draco in alarm. 

"It's probably a one-way ticket if you all go," added Draco. Harry glanced at him before turning to Hermione.

"We're coming with you," replied Ron loyally.

"I have to make my own decision, Ron…Hermione. I have to go. It's up to you whether you come too."

"Well said," commented Draco quietly.

"No!" shrieked Ginny. "Harry…don't die…!"

"Ginny, I want you to stay here. That is to say, Ron and I do." He took a few steps towards her and kissed her on the cheek. The girl inclined her head towards him and closed her eyes before stepping away from Harry and the rest of the group. 

"I will not feel any different to any of you if you stay," Harry continued, looking at his friends. "I am going now." Harry began to move. So did Hermione and Ron, Neville and Luna.

Tabitha made to go too: there were Aurors in the Owlery. If the children got up there they would have a lot of explaining to do. As she moved Draco Malfoy swung round in front of her.

"Wait." He kept his wand trained on Tabitha and the five students stopped too, looking towards Draco and Tabitha.

"The Dark Lord has a spy in the Department of Mysteries. A Mysteriour." Tabitha stopped, her mouth opening in shock.

"And who do you suspect it – " She broke off, reading the answer from Draco Malfoy's face.

"No. I'm no traitor. Listen," she called over to the students. "Listen to me. If you get to the Owlery without being seen then tell any Auror you meet that I've given you permission. I'll back you." She looked at Draco, who had narrowed his eyes and then back at the students. All of them were now giving her a mistrustful look.

"And Draco gave you information about Mrs Frobisher?" asked Ron, echoing their thoughts. "Were you behind her death?"

Tabitha said nothing. Instead she prepared herself to walk past Draco Malfoy. Whether the children wanted to believe her or not she was on their side and prepared to help them, despite the ignominy of her predicament.

"Immobilus!" Immediately the world in the immediate vicinity of Tabitha Penwright became thick and viscose, as if she were trying to walk through thick treacle. She saw Malfoy turn and look at Harry and his friends, glancing at Ron and nodding in confirmation at his assertion. 

"That was totally unnecessary," scolded Hermione, frowning at Draco. "Don't you think we're going to be in enough trouble?"

"Harry, go," said Draco, ignoring Hermione. "Go and defeat the Dark Lord. He's ruined my life, though not as much as he's ruined yours I dare say – go…"

"No!" shouted Ginny, tearing over to the group. "You're going anyway? Even after what he just told you? Even though You-Know-Who is ready and waiting?" She shook her head incredulously. 

"Draco, can you fight? Are you willing to fight?" Draco nodded his head at Harry. The five Gryffindors stared at him in amazement. But Harry was too preoccupied in his the near future to realise the significance of inviting Draco Malfoy to fight with them against Voldermort and the Death Eaters. Hermione nudged Harry and leaned towards him.

"…his father…" she whispered, loud enough for Draco to hear. Neville and Ron nodded too.

"I'll sort it all out here, Harry. I'll make it well." 

Thinking back to that moment none of the young witches and wizards in the Muggle Studies classroom that afternoon could definitely say who made the first move. Did Harry step towards Draco first, or was it Draco Malfoy who went first? Nevertheless, it resulted in something that neither of them believed would ever happen in a million years. They shook hands.

"Go…" Draco urged. "The quicker you go the less chance they have of stopping you.

"I'm coming too," said Ginny defiantly as the quintet began to step one by one out into the teaching corridor. Tabitha watched as Harry stepped back, looking a Ginny in a way that made the girl's emphatic stand ebb away to nothing. And then, to everyone's astonishment Harry pulled Ginny closer to him, giving her a knee-melting, heart-stopping kiss. Time stood still.

"Please stay." And then restarted. Ginny nodded at Harry's words as tears sprang to her eyes and she followed the students out, tearing down the teaching corridor in the other direction.

Tabitha could do nothing other than watch the unfolding scene, slowly becoming more annoyed and agitated at her immobile state. Draco Malfoy turned from the door from where he had been watching the five students make a run for it, stalking towards her menacingly. 

"I have you now, traitor," he began, holding his wand at throat-height. And then, just when Tabitha began to believe that her number was well and truly up the wand that Malfoy was holding span away across the stone-flagged floor, clattering in its transition.

"Stand away from that teacher, Mr. Malfoy. Liberacorpus." Severus Snape was standing in the doorway, green-purple sparks from the spell crackling along the floor and around Tabitha Penwright. As she began to readjust to being free of the Immobilus charm Snape made his way towards her, turning his head towards a recoiling Draco. "I will deal with _you_ later."

"They've gone," said Tabitha, striding up to Snape and addressing him as matter-of-factly as she could in an attempt to regain what little pride she had left. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood…" She strode out onto the teaching corridor and began to race in the direction that the students had taken. Snape followed her, and quickly caught up with her.

"They've gone to the Ministry, to the Department of Mysteries," said Tabitha, answering Snape's unspoken question and ignoring the danger of picking up his thoughts as they hurried towards the quadrangle. 

"Come on then," growled Snape as she paused to consider the route to take, guiding her elbow in the direction of the Owlery. "It's your department, Tabitha."

But it was all for nothing. From the right of the Owlery there were already three brooms aloft, two of them carrying a double load. The students were getting away!

"Accio – " Snape pulled her down the scree slope a little towards Hagrid's hut. " – what type is your broom, Miss Penwright?"

"Nimbus 1500," Tabitha replied, glad that the darkness of the summer's evening would veil her embarrassment.

"Accio Nimbus 1500." Within seconds her broom, which she was now grateful that she had ridden to Hogwarts all those months ago, was hovering three feet from the ground awaiting its passenger. 

"Come on!" insisted Snape as he slipped onto the front of the broomstick as she made a clumsy attempt to slip onto the delicate handle and he held out his hand.

"I can _manage_!" Tabitha cut back, regaining her footing on the uneven ground but she took his arm anyway. They soon became airborne and Snape banked her low-performance model towards the prevailing wind. 

"We are going to war," commented Snape. "Do you feel courageous, Tabitha Penwright?"

"War is fear cloaked in courage," Tabitha replied. "If one feels afraid then that's the right question." And then she saw it, just as they began to pick up speed over Hogsmeade. It took Tabitha a few seconds to register what it was but then once she had done so horror took hold in her stomach.

The Dark Mark.

The Mark of Voldermort.

A Mark so well known to all employees at the Ministry that sometimes after long shifts Tabitha went to bed thinking about it. There was no doubt what she had seen. 

"Hold on! You're going to come off." Snape's words were accompanied by a shuffling during which he pulled Tabitha's arms around him so that she was pulled up against the back of the wizard, the _Death Eater_, who was now flying her broom. Two thoughts now fought for primacy in her mind. The other was to get lose Snape as soon as she could when they got to the Ministry for Magic.

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"Look, I told you it was half past twelve," said Fred Weasley as he and his brother burst in on a deserted Muggle Studies classroom. "I really wish you'd listen to me." George Weasley made a few furtive glances around the room just in case Ron or Harry or Hermione were lurking in the shadows.

"And I'm sure he said half one," replied George, though with little conviction. "For all you know we're early and they're not here yet!" Fred was about to reply when a voice rang out from the back of the classroom, faint but clear. 

"They've just left." Draco Malfoy took a few steps out of the shadow of the door behind which he was hiding as the Weasley twins hurried towards him. 

"Malfoy?" Draco nodded.

"Why're you in the Muggle Studies classroom, and how do you know they've just left?" 

"Because I was here when they did," Draco replied. "Potter, Grainger, your brother, Longbottom, Lovegood. All gone."

"Merlin's bollocks!" exclaimed George aloud before joining his brother in glaring at Draco Malfoy.

"And how come you know so much about it all, Malfoy? Did you try to stop them?"

"I tried to stop Penwright," said Draco truthfully. "As for the others, I couldn't give a skrewt's arse about _them_." 

The punch came out of nowhere. As soon as Fred landed it, bringing Draco Malfoy to his knees, another soon followed courtesy of George.

"You git!" yelled George as his fist came in contact with Draco's nose. "Why the hell did you come back here anyway? You should have stayed wherever the hell it was you were!"

"Seconded," shouted Fred, kicking Draco's legs and knocking him to his knees.

"Where've they gone?" George Weasley shouted the question towards Draco's right ear, holding him around the neck.

"…to ministry…don't you know anything…?" He choked as George squeezed. But Fred took a step back, looking at Draco Malfoy in horror.

"Let him go, George."

"Fred – "

"They don't know!" George let go of Draco and stood next to his brother, waiting for him to continue.

"Know…what…?" spluttered Draco trying to breathe though his compressed trachea.

"Mrs Frobisher's…"

"Mrs Frobisher's what?" shouted Draco, staggering to his feet.

"She's alive…" 

"She's _what_?!"

George nodded at Fred, slapping him on the arm with the back of his hand as he realised the gravity of the situation and they exchanged decisive looks.

"Then they need to know," said Draco, pointing towards the classroom window. "Hermione set up some brooms. I think they're flying to London!"

"Thanks!" shouted the Weasley twins as they legged it out of the classroom, the impact of Draco Malfoy giving them information not yet registering. They got to the courtyard and headed down the slope in the direction of Hagrid's hut and the owlery.

"What are we going to do?" panted Fred as they got to the bottom of the brick tower through the top of which the odd owl flew in and out. "We won't be able to catch them if we fly now."

"Come on," said George and began to run in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

"How's that going to help?" asked Fred, "what'll help us in there?" But George shook his head.

"We've crossed the Edgestones," he said, pointing to the arcing stones, no bigger than golf balls which circled away from them now and glowed ethereally. 

"So Umbridge'll know we've gone," concluded Fred.

"But she won't know how."

Within a few seconds the twins disapparated, leaving behind a couple of cracks and a few wisps of smoke.

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Hope you're still enjoying this – please tell me what you think!


	25. Before the Veil

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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The location was apt. That was one thing you could say. Despite the summer's day dying peacefully and being replaced with a cool evening breeze the zephyrs were even now being replaced by more sporadic gusts around the tombstones of and monument to those long gone.

People were arriving. Sometimes in ones or twos. Sometimes as groups of three or more. Some laughed and chattered; some stood solemn and grave as the grave. Others declared this would be their finest hour.

It was as if a ragged collection of loyal followers had assembled, unsure of the future that was to follow and waiting, waiting for an instruction, a sign. Waiting to find out what they had been called for. And this was exactly what it was. The Death Eaters had been Called. Those who had not been weak enough to be tempted were present. Present and waiting.

And listening.

Lord Voldermort, formerly Tom Marvolo Riddle, stood before his followers. He was not surprised when many of them wordlessly recoiled at his appearance. Even before he had been diminished four months before his faithful his façade had been grotesque. But that was irrelevant and he declared it so to the wizards and witches before him.

Voldermort could tell that many were uncomfortable. Ill at ease with the undeclared situation and the undisclosed arrangements. They didn't have to wait long. Murmurs and whispers of beliefs, guesses, ideas, theories, possibilities and suppositions were cut short when he spoke of the situation. A spell would be released. It was intended to kill him. Instead it would strengthen him.

In the living room of a large terraced house in the middle-to-west of London the location was vital. The night was already three hours begun and not all of their number was accounted for. The still, unnerving calm of the Order headquarters had begun to trouble some. One or two of them sat on the purple sofas clutching one another's hands. Others sat alone, in silent contemplation at what lay ahead. Groups formed and came apart like midsummer clouds exchanging words, one or two, or lengthy trade.

"…Harry'll take the potion…"

"…and cast the spell…"

On one of the contraband purple settees, probably not being sought any more by anyone from the Fayed family, Molly Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks hugged one another. The plan that had been shared a mere seventy-five minutes earlier was repeated between the two witches.

"And that'll be it," concluded Tonks quietly. "It's the waiting that's so difficult."

"I know, darling. When we're all together, we can do it." Mrs Weasley smiled weakly at the not-so-new Mrs Smith, looking past her and around the living room.

"Where's Sirius?"

"Here…"

The Death Eaters were still, silent. Waiting. Poised. Listening.

"One part of my soul is in the possession of our enemy. It will be released and will be strengthened. Dumbledore believes they have the last of my horcruxes and that I am to be brought down when this piece is returned to me. They think we are there to retrieve the prophecy so I can be sure my enemy is Harry Potter. In fact, it is the second-to-last horcrux. Another is hidden, far from the reach of any mortal.

I'll find the horcrux and release it, thought Sirius as more Order members arrived in his living room. Cecilia has the memory and she will have worked everything out. He nodded at Minerva McGonagall who drew together the witches and wizards bound together by nothing more than a promise to defeat Voldermort under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore.

"They'll not succeed," Voldermort added. His followers were not wholly convinced yet. "In order to become whole a person must return it to the surface!" They soon would be. "Now, are the muggle weapons present and checked?"

"What happens if they pull something new?" asked Tonks, her nerve on the brink of failing.

"Don't get upsettin' yerself." Mad-eye Moody winked his good eye in her direction, a hideous but comical sight.

"Does Snape have the potion now?" McGonagall nodded.

"He was working in it this evening, finishing it off when I floo'd him," confirmed Sirius.

"Leaving it a bit late," commented Bathsheba Braddle. Sirius nodded, his mind fixed on his own future.

"Have we got everybody?"

"…Pettigrew…Carrow…Carrow…Lestrange…Malfoy…" As he named the loyal few who had answered his Call Voldermort pondered over the name.

"Honoured, my Lord," replied Lucius Malfoy silkily, hoping the terrible wizard would not mention Draco.

"Your son failed, did he not, to unravel the so-called Universal Link?" Malfoy nodded, recalling in inexorable detail the punishment meted out to his son for his failure.

"And you have been working for the ministry?"

"Undercover," said Malfoy quickly, "in order to remain unobtrusive." He stepped forward from the circle that the Death Eaters had formed and addressed them, the ground firm but not soid underfoot. "And I think Draco's failure proves what wily games these muggles can play. That my son was not able to fulfil his task infers that it was an fair task for him to be asked to carry out.

In the darkness, illuminated only by a ghoulish green glow overhead the Death Eaters' whispers fell to nothing and they became silent as the grave as they watched Lord Voldermort turn slowly to Lucius Malfoy.

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The plan was simplest. And of course, the simplest is the best. Wizards just did not know how to defend themselves against certain weapons…

He had gone through a few of them to try that out; the money laundered through companies had allowed him to. At first he had laughed. Surely that couldn't be. That was the only difference?

As his understanding had grow he had discovered it was slightly more complicated than that, the effect of the weapons varying according to the person and the situation. Muggle-borns, for example, would at least be familiar with some and may be more likely to know how to act.

And, as he delved more deeply he had laughed at the similarities, provided by several unwitting volunteers he came to the conclusion that there was nothing that muggles knew, nothing they had that wizards didn't know already. The only difference was that it was wrapped up and packaged differently.

Now he would wait. The followers of Voldermort would be assembling now. When he was contacted his section of the plan would be put into place. But that was for the future, not for now. What he needed to do now was to wait.

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Several hours earlier and the following information was imparted.

"I am surprised that you are here before me, Severus Snape." Lord Voldermort, diminished, grotesque and malformed rose from his crumpled position on the floor of the muggle warehouse. He had barely flickered when Snape had appeared before him. Snape knew however by the minute pause his arrival was unexpected.

"I have some information for you. Something you have been searching for." Snape rooted his feet to the ground and stared at the wizard in front of him. Within hours one of two pathways would be trodden: the Dark Lord would be restored to his full and terrible glory or he would be reduced to nothing. Either way, the wizard needed to know the truth. The future depended on it.

"The Universal Link connects the energy we have to that which makes us magical." He shifted from one foot to another. "There is a range of power, which filters right down to the lowliest, stoical muggle." Onto the floor caked in decades of grime, dirt, and oil Snape threw a parchment. Voldermort followed the arc of the parchment's transit, staring at it for a moment as it landed three feet away from Snape. He felt his lips curl up at the corners, mocking his ex-master momentarily.

"There is likely to be the most variation of power in muggle-borns; half blood wizards are likely to be the most powerful…more powerful than purebloods. Purebloods are the most consistent."

"Ah…"

Snape fought to keep down the satisfaction he was feeling at the victory. He watched as Lord Voldermort scrabbled on the filthy floor for the parchment, unpeeling it and unfurling it with gnarled, wizened digits.

"Ah…" The Dark Lord looked at his former servant and raised what appeared to be an eyebrow. "I know this magic…auld magic. The energy that you describe…it's the same channel with which auld magic works…good…good!" He twisted his gruesome features into what appeared to be a smile. Snape's satisfied smile fell to nothing.

"Draco Malfoy may have failed _you_ but he did _not_ fail."

"And why are you interested, Severus Snape? Do you think that I do not know that you are hand in pocket with Dumbledore? I granted you immunity for the sake of your previous loyalty, one which was never in question. I am a benevolent Lord."

"I am interested for the sake of the potion."

"That which Harry potter will imbibe…" Voldermort laughed, a hollow, twisted sound. Snape baulked but said nothing. Instead he nodded.

"Potter is keen to honour the muggle Cecilia Frobisher. His faith in me is somewhat lacking."

"He is not as naïve as he would seem then, Snape," laughed Voldermort.

"He has no choice." Snape broke off and watched Voldermort read through the details on the page again. He knew the Dark Lord would not acknowledge the unsettledness that Snape knew he was feeling.

"Good," mused Voldermort, smiling again. "Good…muggle science…" But then his expression changed and a cold breeze whipped through the dank basement. "You are not here as my ally, Snape."

"No indeed." Severus Snape stared at the grotesque form before him. "The information I have given to you, does it not worry you?" Voldermort laughed again.

"That purebloods are not the most powerful? Ha! I have long known it. I saw it as my duty to set that right. By eliminating all others..."

"Many of those who follow you will desert you when the time is right. The information I have given to you is the basis for Harry Potter's potion with which he will challenge and defeat you."

The inclination of the wand came all too late. Snape was gone leaving behind nothing that would prove he was ever there.

And then the potion was ready. Snape had put down the paper that he had received from Sirius Black via the floo network. How the Marauder had come across this information in amongst everything else that was at Grimmauld Place Snape didn't have time to contemplate but several channels had led him to the correct blend. Nevertheless he had it.

Through the potions classroom window he saw a figure make its way up the steep path that led to the castle. Snape watched Tabitha Penwright plod slowly, her hair tousling in the soft breeze, back to her guard duty. Filling up the two potion bottles, one with the match and the other with the base Snape waited for her to pass by the classroom door before he engaged her help in the battle.

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Three.

Three seconds. Three minutes. Three hours. Three Days.

Three years.

Remus Lupin watched the dull grey sky become interspersed with contrasting paler and darker shades. Azkaban Prison was worse than he had ever imagined.

Sirius Black had described to him the horror that was imprisonment there, on a magically concealed complex in the middle of the North Sea with dementors as prison warders. He had, of course, listened to him, sympathised and comforted. But it wasn't until now, imprisoned for a crime he had not committed and feeling guilt for the crime that he had, that Remus Lupin could actually empathise with his friend.

It was a humiliating feeling; it was designed to be. The block in which he had been placed along with all of the other half breeds was in a separate part to the other magical criminals. Screams rebounded day and night back and forth along the corridors and even a heavy sleeper like Remus found it difficult to come to terms with the constant feeling of emptiness, as if he was being drained of every happy feeling and memory.

Three.

The time was indecipherable using the usual means of estimation. Apart from getting noticeably darker for periods of time it was impossible to determine how long he had been in prison. Remus was beginning to wonder whether he could bear the isolation much longer.

And then it started.

Ministry Aurors began marching down the corridors. Prisoners, some of whom Remus recognised as having been transported with him to the gaol were being led out, walking in lines, heads bowed and, as Remus, beclothed in the striped fabric of a prisoner. It wasn't long before an Auror, an older witch who had accompanied them to Azkaban, inserted a large key into the lock, allowing it to clank open before pushing open the iron barred door back on itself.

"Come." A hint of a motherly gesture in the inclination of her hand stirred comforting memories in Remus and he walked out, glancing up and down the corridor and taking in the sight of other prisoners being escorted from their cells.

A glimmer of hope began to rise in Remus's stomach as the door to which they were being guided appeared to be the entrance through which they had all trooped so long ago.

"We're free," he whispered to himself as the line came to a halt, its course passing through the doorway and beyond. "They're going to let us go."

At the front of the line a couple of Aurors exchanged a few words, one passing to the other what looked like a handful of watercress. The receiving Auror stuffed it inside his robe. It wouldn't do for the half breeds to see the flixweed, panic and cause chaos. No. Far better for them to believe they were going to their liberty rather than their doom.

A knot formed in his stomach. Three days the prisoners had been there. Two of those days they had been incarcerated, fed and watered and guarded by the dementors. The howls, screams, roars and baying had been bad enough. And then they had had the message that the half breeds were to be…exterminated.

The Auror looked along the row of people. To an untrained eye it was just a line of witches and wizards, a little rough and ready around the edges due to the ordeal of their incarceration. Wizards and witches with hidden secrets. That was why they were dangerous. The Auror who had handed him the bunch of flixweed tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a small slip of parchment before returning to his desk at the entrance of the prison. The Auror unfolded it, before nodding to himself. The eradication had been ordered the day before. Then, as now, a line of people had snaked down the corridor on the floor above.

They were all humble, walking in pairs to meet their death when he had opened the gates at the front of the prison as sheep to slaughter. They queue moved slowly forward; the first pair had been herded onto the narrow boat at the entrance. Where moments before there had been expressions of hushed hope, once the boat was full and he had stood before them there had been complete silence, not a word, a cry, a groan as he had distributed leaves of the flixweed plant.

The Auror ignored the knot of disgust that was building up inside his stomach. Had the witches and wizards lined up before him now been in their animal form he had no doubt it would have made the task much easier. He crossed to the desk and handed the note back to the Auror who had given it to him. Archie Busby was, as ever, nonchalantly reading the "Daily Prophet", masticating on some gum. He took the note from the Auror without saying anything, pulling his legs from the desk and opening a drawer. The Auror read the front headline, taking in the story of the day as Busby handed him a key.

The Auror turned. It was time. He looked at the wizards at the front of the queue, hope reflecting in his eyes as the exit of the prison. A stab of humanity pricked his cerebellum and he fought the urge to scream at the prisoners, the sheep standing placidly in line, waiting for hope to become real.

"You all are going to be killed in ten minutes, do you realise that?! So go and fight for yourselves!" The Auror screamed at the half breeds silently in his mind. "Kill me and take the boat! You shouldn't have to put up with this!"

But no. He had seen it the day before. Once the prisoners knew what was to come they lapsed into apathy; all they want is to put an end to their waiting, to be put to death as soon as possible. That was the result of the Dementors, even after three days, their efficient leeching of happy emotions leaving behind constant torment.

Another Auror tapped him on the shoulder. Geraint Jones flicked a smile in his direction and led him to one side, away from the condemned.

"I'll do this, Filby." Geraint put a friendly hand on the Auror's shoulder. "You get to the back of the queue. We needed help there yesterday. I can handle the weed."

The Auror didn't wait to be told twice. What he had experienced the day before was enough to traumatise him for the rest of his life. Tapping Geraint on the shoulder and flashing his friend a grateful smile he jogged to the inner doorway and along the corridor.

The commotion that had been in progress being handled incompetently by Moira Rigglesworth came to a halt as the Auror approached, wand in hand. The prisoners at the end of the queue, agitated no doubt by the waiting had chosen, as had those at the back of the queue the day before, to pick fights with one another. On seeing the Auror they fell silently back into line, heads bowed. Remus Lupin, standing motionless a few places ahead turned and looked at the Auror.

"Everything OK?" Moira nodded, relief etched on her face. She shouldn't have been there, thought the Auror. But in times such as those the Ministry had to use what they had available.

"I thought you were with the boat," replied Moira. A few of the agitators turned and looked at the Aurors, hope infiltrating the line as the words were repeated Chinese-whisper style before an awkward silence returned to the

"They're honouring the muggle," commented the Auror as the queue began to move. "The one who theorised about a link between them and us?" Moira nodded. It had barely been out of the newspapers that week.

"Yes, they're naming a bravery medal after her." The Auror shook his head. "What a way to go, not even being able to see the Dementor…" He trailed off when he realised that several of the prisoners were listening to their conversation who turned back to face the direction in which they were going.

"I heard that she said she loved someone," replied Moira conversationally. All bar one. Remus Lupin continued to stare at the Aurors, his ears pricked and alert. ""I love you." That's what she said."

And then the line began to move again, not sporadically as it had been earlier but slowly and steadily. Remus felt his heart jerk as he thought about his deceased Cecilia and, tilting his head to the ceiling whispered to the dark black stones from which it was constructed.

"Cecilia. Please know that I remember you, and I'll never forget you, and maybe one day I'll avenge your death. You were my first true love, and I have the sweetest and purest memories of you. You were my ideal, and I'm sure I will never find anyone like you. I love you too."

As the doorway towards the exit of the prison loomed ahead, the darkness of the night striding into the building Remus fell silent and focused his mind on the future.

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They landed in Bedford Street in the centre of London. It had been a bumpy and uncomfortable descent; clearly Snape was out of practise when it came to lightweight airborne transport resulting in Tabitha having had to hold onto the wizard again so that she didn't come off. The street was deserted, unusual for a London street even a two-thirty in the morning.

"There." Tabitha pointed to the barely visible entrance that could easily have been a coincidental arrangement of stones in the wall of one of the buildings. Snape nodded and handed her the broom which she collapsed, making it half the size before stepping lightly towards the wall. Removing her wand she swiftly traced the outline of the wall which illuminated with bluish-white light before becoming physical, the door studded with iron and brass.

Tabitha felt a mixture of emotions as she pushed open the door of the employee entrance, holding it open for Snape to walk past her before walking through herself. Behind her the door swung shut and sealed itself with its usual swishing noise. They were inside the Ministry for Magic. She and Severus Snape whom she, Tabitha Penwright, had been in the embryonic process of admiring. She and the Death Eater.

"Come on," said Tabitha as Snape raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Through here." They made their way through to the foyer, the hub of the Ministry and Tabitha allowed the betrayal that she felt through Snape's lies and deception to filter at last into her brain. Throughout the journey she had been planning what to do when she got to the Ministry. Her faith had been crushed when she had spied his weal and she saw at last the fabrications he, Dumbledore, the children and even her cousin Sturgis had weaved with her naïvety. Not any more. Now she was in control.

Tabitha looked around the foyer. The place was deserted, not even Fyon Green, the small wizard on night duty was at his desk. That was most unusual, Tabitha thought. Fyon did the night shift…he was _always _there.

"We'll go down to the Department," said Tabitha, pointing in the direction of the deep-shafted lift, the only one which reached those deep floors. "That's where you said they might be?"

"Indeed." Snape nodded and followed her. A small victory, thought Tabitha as she pressed the button for her floor. On their way to the Ministry Snape had told her partially of Dumbledore's plan. Clearly he believed her to be still duped by everything, something Tabitha was keen to propagate. As long as Snape believed she was on his side she was safe.

But…she had to get to someone fast, to talk to them or inform them about what she knew. She tried not to think about how stupid she had been that a Death Eater had convinced her to go along with Dumbledore's plan. The sooner she let the authorities knew the sooner she would feel less foolish. Clearly she had been green, but now she knew she had to oppose Dumbledore and whatever plan he had put in place.

"Come on," said Snape as the lift dropped to the bottom floor. "We have to find the children."

"Why?" Tabitha paused in her exit of he lift and stared at Snape, an air of innocence in her tone."

"When we find them we'll find the battle. But first…" He swung Tabitha round so that she was facing him in the dark obsidian-black corridor and placed a hand on each shoulder. "There's something I must tell you."

Like the discourse he had had with his former master Severus Snape revealed to Tabitha Penwright the true nature of the Universal Link, explaining the intricacies that not he but Cecilia Frobisher had uncovered, how the theory of the link they had used to concoct Harry's potion. How each wizard was different, and their powers dependent not only on birth but by emotions. Tabitha shook he head in disbelief. The man was standing there, sharing precisely everything that she had been sent to Hogwarts to discover for the Ministry. She supposed that she should have been grateful but months of enduring lies and deceit, insolence from children and misdirection from colleagues had turned the gratitude to bitterness.

And then Tabitha Penwright stood still as Snape leaned further forward, looking her in the eye. He was heartened that she had chosen to assist him, and that she would be an asset to the rebellion and it took every ounce of strength that she had to prevent herself from betraying the knowledge she had inadvertently acquired.

"So, who is in this rebellion?" asked Tabitha as Snape took his hands from her shoulders and straightened up. "Apart from yourself, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and my cousin?"

"Several dozen," replied Snape, smiling a little. "We have been active since the first uprising from the Dark Lord. Sturgis as you say; Minerva McGonagall; many of the Weasley family; Sirius Black – "

"Sirius Black?! The murderer?" Tabitha's tone was a mixture of disbelief and incredulousness. "Are you sure?"

"He is innocent," Snape replied. "It is another who follows the Dark Lord who committed the crimes for which Black was found guilty." Tabitha closed her eyes and then opened them again, filing the information for future use.

"So, you think they're here? In the Department of Mysteries?" Snape nodded. "Why?"

"That I cannot discuss, Miss Penwright. Sufficed to say that it is here where the action will take place." He frowned when he saw Tabitha shake her head.

"It's a huge department," she commented, beginning to move towards her office. "You could be here for days searching for them, especially if they've found their way into the mysteries." She pushed open the door and held it open for Snape.

"Look, let's split up. We'll cover more ground if we do. I'll search here. The unspeakable office is that way." Snape nodded as Tabitha moved towards a second inner door, the key for which she retrieved from the bottom of one of the filing cabinets. "It's this way."

But Snape did not move. Tabitha felt her heart beat faster as he stared at her slowly. Now's the time, she thought, panic beginning to build in her chest. This is the moment where I'm done for. The Death Eater's going to kill me.

"Might I use your fireplace before I go exploring in there?"

With an inner sigh of relief Tabitha proffered the fireplace in her office and she retired to her desk, far enough away so that Snape could carry out his conversation in semi-privacy. She looked over some transcripts of interviews which somehow had made their way onto her desk for some reason, her ear half on the conversation that Snape was having with another wizard informing them that he was at the ministry and that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna had taken brooms and had come here. She also heard him add that the plan was in motion and the potion was made.

"Thank you," said Snape eventually, getting up awkwardly from the fireplace. "If you Tabitha, as you say, look around here I'll be in there searching." Nodding briefly Snape marched over to the door which Tabitha had unlocked, thrust it open and then banged it closed as he walked though it.

Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief. Getting to her feet she re-locked the door that led to the Unspeakables' department. Snape would certainly be able to get out when he realised what she had done but it might just slow him down enough.

What to do, what to do, Tabitha thought, running through her list of limited options. Stooping by the fireplace herself she reached for the floo powder in the cup to the right of the fireplace, casting some of it into the grate. Bending low she willed herself to see the living room that she recognised so very well, that of her family home, of her mother. She was not there. Neither it seemed, when she repeated the process for her brother, was Robert.

For Robert she left a brief message that she wanted to speak to him in the floo network. She knew how much he hated that, more the surprise he explained rather than the magic but in times like those needs must.

Getting to her feet she thought back to what Snape had told her about the Universal Link how, in order to defeat Voldermort Harry Potter's energy levels would be reduced when he took the potion in order for the spell to work. His magic was concentrated, focused on one single point and in doing so, Snape had informed her, essentially stripping him of all other abilities and changing his magical profile. It was only then he could use the spell to defeat You-Know-Who.

Once the words had crystallised in her mind Tabitha knew what it was she must do. No longer a fool relying on her family for answers she would save what she could of wizard society by stopping the rebellion. Her note was brief and specific. Sitting at her desk with a sheet of parchment in front of her Tabitha wrote down all that Snape had told her including what he had discussed about Harry Potter.

"It is believed that the battle will be taking place in the Lower Chamber, the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore and his rebellion of wizards will be there. Five children including Harry Potter will be there. Severus Snape is a Death Eater. Sirius Black alive and will be there. That Harry Potter will use a potion designed to remove his powers and the Avada Kedavra curse to challenge and try to defeat Voldermort I believe is actually a ruse."

Sealing the letter up Tabitha signalled for a post imp. A streak of dark blue appeared within seconds and the tiny creature appeared on her desk, its arms folded. Clearly she had disturbed its sleep and it wasn't very happy about it.

Picking up her quill again she wrote down the name of her friend and colleague Vincento and instructed the imp to give it to her owl, Breen, for urgent delivery.

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Another thing about latent floo messages. If they are read after the time they are made, as in the case of the one intended for Fred and George, they would remain in the grate in which they were discovered until removed. Clearly the Weasley twins did not know this, nor did they subsequently find out about it. As a result the headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came across three pieces of valuable information.

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He couldn't rest. The thought of Cecilia Frobisher sitting in his father's study helping him solve his mission that was his tormented him. He wasn't afraid of death. In fact, he was all too ready to embrace it. That had been before Mrs Frobisher had turned up on his doorstep.

All too readily feelings that he'd long ago forgotten had been stirred. At first he had hated her, resented having to give her house room. When she left for Hogwarts his hatred had turned to fascination. He had spied on her; he'd seen her with her with her defences down. Her triumphs and vulnerabilities, all shared with her four walls with no idea that she was being overheard. He'd seen her undress and glimpsed her naked. He'd watched her choose appropriate attire for teaching, breakfast and the ball. His study was the window on her world. And now she was no more than fifty feet away from her, she who was making him realise that life was worth living, despite all he had endured, after all.

The Order had come and gone. The wizards and witches had assembled, all in line with Dumbledore's plan that Minerva McGonagall had finally shared with them all. As per the plan he had remained behind, under the pretext of still being sought by the Ministry and thus risking the mission.

Sirius had told Cecilia about this part of the plan too. She had been sitting in his father's chair, her legs folded under her in the same way he had seen her so many times in her room at Hogwarts or in the Muggle Studies classroom. They had chatted momentarily and it was clear to him that Cecilia wanted to be left alone. That is when he had told her about the expedition that he and Remus had taken during the lunar eclipse; how he had been with him when he had endured such agony and described his symptoms.

Cecilia had been pained as he indicated how his friend had suffered. Cecilia had told her how wonderful that, as the first person to know about his lycanthropy, Remus had trusted him. Sirius had sighed. Actually, he'd confessed, it hadn't been him who Remus had first confided. Cecilia had smiled. It didn't matter now, she'd said…

…he'd looked so old and tired, as if resigned to what lay ahead. And then he had gone, telling her to wake him when she was finished.

And then, almost without realising it Cecilia Frobisher, she had done it.

Sirius's bedroom was actually much smaller than it appeared. In the centre on the farthest wall a huge Victorian wooden bedframe loomed, over-large and emerging from the darkness as a frigate out of the mist. She closed the door behind her barring the light from the landing entry and looked around at the room's furnishings. Ripped curtains, a smashed dressing table and torn carpet. Much like the rest of the house but more than a bit of a state.

Picking her way across the room over piles of debris Cecilia approached the bed. At first she thought she was mistaken: the tiny figure lying in the large bed surely couldn't be Sirius Black. The person looked tiny within the covers and, as it moved the light of the waning moon reflected off his face. Sirius Black was asleep

Several hours before the quietness that was within this room did not exist, either with herself, with Sirius or with the Order below but now the stillness that prevailed began to unnerve Cecilia. She had never seen him asleep before and in front of her eyes the glamour of strength and cock-sureness gave way to vulnerability.

Cecilia sat down on the edge of the bed, her heart melting at the sight of the sleeping wizard. She had to take pity on Sirius. What he'd been through in his life, all that potential wasted…

he wouldn't be coming back from the Ministry for Magic, that was one thing he hadn't told her earlier but one thing which was evident in the information he had given to her.

Nevertheless that was irrelevant now. What mattered was getting to the Ministry and putting into place the plan carefully constructed by Dumbledore. Cecilia had done it, she had confirmed the plan and had come to tell him so.

Cecilia looked at Sirius again. He looked so peaceful, like Remus when he was asleep; when his moustache bristled with his breath. Sirius's moustache was moving too and Cecilia leaned forward, closer to Sirius intent on placing her hand on his arm. But stopped. From his lips mutterings were coming as if he was having a conversation with someone. She made to get up.

"Harry!" Sirius's shout made Cecilia freeze and she looked sharply at the wizard who, towards her extended hand enclosed her wrist in one of his hands. Cecilia sat down as Sirius called out more names, some from the past, others from the present.

"…Moony…"

Cecilia felt her wrist go limp as Sirius loosened his grip. It was then she realised that she had been crying as the wizard relived the names of his past. When it happened, she thought as Sirius turned under the ragged covers, when he woke there'd be no going back for either of them. There was no going back now. The stone had been laid; the train had left the platform. They had passed the Rubicon.

"…Cecilia…"

At her name Cecilia jerked her head in the direction of the sleeping wizard, watching him sigh in his sleep as he breathed. He looked so defenceless, so exposed…the names he spoke in his sleep begging to be put to rest…

She felt for him. She wanted him. Cecilia put her hands to her face as tears, like heavy raindrops fell onto the bedclothes. She could feel herself wanting him…there was so much that she was attracted to this man…if things were otherwise…if she'd never met Remus…she would have fallen for him, there was no doubt about that.

But…he wasn't Remus. Remus Lupin was her world. When she looked at him, all she could see was Remus…

Sirius moved in his sleep and the plan which Cecilia had pored over for hours crystallised in her mind. She put her hand forward knowing that when she woke him it would be the last time.

"Cecilia." Withdrawing her hand from his upper arm Cecilia nodded as she withdrew her hand. Sirius pulled himself up in bed, still clothed Cecilia noticed, and picked up his wand from the dressing table drawer.

"Lumos," he declared, flooding the room with a low light. "You've done it?" Cecilia shook her head, waiting for the inevitable crestfallen look that Sirius was about to give her. He didn't disappoint.

"No. Dumbledore did it he and whoever this is who wrote down this information. I've just confirmed it." Cecilia made to get up, he folded a hand around her wrist again and pulled her back down onto the bed and towards him.

"You're ready? You have worked out how to carry out the plan?" Again Cecilia shook her head.

"I…I've made my own plan," she qualified and outlined it in succinct detail. When she had finished she looked at Sirius. Cecilia had seen that look before. She tried to ignore it and focus on the plan. But Sirius continued to smile in confusion. Cecilia relented.

"It's exactly as was originally proposed," she explained, "but with one detail changed." Sirius leaned forward, his face level with hers.

"Which is…?"

"I'll tell you, but you need to take me there, Sirius." Cecilia sat stiffly as the wizard leaned back, interlocking his fingers over his head and shaking it, a look of horror contorting his face.

"I couldn't have you go...not there…not to that...besides we'd have to apparate and I can't risk it with you."

"I'd risk anything for him Sirius…you will have to trust me, or I will not tell you." Sirius leaned forward, his expression changing from one of horror to one of innocent imploring.

"Cecilia, I do trust you."

From her jacket pocket Cecilia removed the bottle in which Sirius had placed his memory and held it in front of him.

"Then we must go to the Department of Mysteries and to the Veil."

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A woman and man, her arms entwined round his waist as they soared through the environs of London. Her head pressed against his back as she focused on their destination and what was to come. He wove between objects: buildings, cars and pillar-boxes, his fate sealed.

Were this a different story, or had the tale intricately woven over these last three hundred or so pages taken a different turn it could quite easily be the signature image, the scene that defined this story. The two people who could quite easily have been lovers sitting close to one anther on an enchanted motorbike flying into the warm summer's night over Britain's capital.

This, however, is a different tale. It has been agonising for both the man and the woman. The world is waiting on the edge for what manifests in the next few hours deep under the city will affect all who live in it. The man and woman are desperate people relying solely on one another in order for their parts to be played.

Cecilia Frobisher and Sirius Black landed on the pavement in Bedford Street not far from where Tabitha Penwright and Severus Snape had landed half an hour before.

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They had floo'd from the pavement into the Department of Mysteries, a dangerous move, all things considered. This is what Cecilia had thought at any rate. Not so dangerous when one thing considered was that the place was empty of any Ministry wizards. This had been Sirius's self-assured proclamation. It was as it had been planned by Dumbledore. The Ministry was deserted.

"Come on," said Cecilia said determinedly as they made their way along several passageways before descending a few hundred steps deeper into the Ministry. But she needn't have worried: Sirius knew exactly where it was they were going…

…down to the Department of Mysteries on the lowest basement floor…along the obsidian-black stone-lined passage to the doors at the bottom…through a door marked "Mysteriours"…through yet another door into a place which seemed to be like a museum of curious and strange objects…

"Don't touch. You could go through and into any number of dimensions," warned Sirius as Cecilia strayed close to a gold-framed mirror.

"I thought that's what you'd planned to do, Sirius," she replied, the black humour hitting a nerve. Sirius flinched.

"How confident are you with this," he asked, ignoring her previous comment as the archway loomed into view.

"Why? What do _you_ want?"

"What I've always wanted, peace and quiet in my life." A flicker of a memory replayed itself in Cecilia's mind. She recalled a memory, one that she had been privileged to see when she had been with Remus at Christmas. Sirius and James Potter, out Auroring. You never always wanted the peaceful life, Sirius.

…and then the archway with the veil hung inside it loomed into view like the Gothic arch of a church, but alone and separate. It was as if the other objects in this strange cavern-like place were afraid to go near it.

"The Veil in the Department of Mysteries. There," Sirius gestured. "I've brought you here. Now will you tell me about the plan, I can take you home and get started?" Cecilia shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere. Even if you wanted to do this alone Sirius you need someone else to help you with the memory." She watched carefully as Sirius began to pace around the archway as if fascinated by the gently flapping fabric.

"You believe this will work?" Cecilia looked at him sharply.

"What Dumbledore planned…? Yes." She turned and looked around her, at the room lit with torches, at the objects that lay behind them though which they had walked. The Department of Mysteries. Through the passage beyond them lay more mysteries and it was clear from the document that the room, named the Room of Artefacts by the author that it spread for many square miles. From her jeans pocket Cecilia pulled the document that Sirius had given her. Whoever had written it was clearly an expert in all things mysterious and a part of Cecilia would have been quite happy to meet them.

"Are you ready? Look, the rope's there, just as it says." Cecilia stepped towards the left-hand corner of the archway. Just as it says…

The plan was this: Cecilia and Sirius were to secure the rope that lay to one side of the arch. By descending on the rope Sirius would be able to transcend the veil in which souls existed, their memories open like beads in a beanbag connected only by loose connectors, like strings. The strings formed in the aether, according to the document, connecting the memories with scenes that had passed in which the original soul had interacted, to some extent, like some huge climbing frame.

Sirius would drop his memory, which would connect to the network and he would be able to search for his brother, locate the horcrux and destroy it. By destroying it beyond the veil, this meant that this part of Voldermort's soul had never been removed and the part which the Order were going to release would be the only part needed to make Harry whole again. With the potion that he was to take Harry would be able to defeat a complete-souled Lord Voldermort and thereby ending the terror.

That was the plan. Correction: that was his plan. Cecilia's plan differed by one small detail.

"Are you are ready?" Cecilia knelt next to the rope waiting for Sirius to join her. But he hesitated and remained where he was.

"Come on Sirius," she called, getting to her feet and leaving the parchment with the plan upon it by the corner of the arch. "I can't do this on my own."

And then Sirius moved, a move that would change the life of his best friend forever. Kneeling where she had been moments ago Sirius looked at the rope, determining that it was the one he needed.

"Yes," he nodded. "Cecilia." He looked at her, the rope in hand and smiled. "Cecilia?"

"Sirius?"

Words, words that should never be spoken cascaded into his cerebellum from their dam that had held well for almost six months and he fought with his mouth to prevent them from being spoken. Words spoken could never be unsaid.

"Thank you," he managed. Cecilia smiled as Sirius neared the veil, looking towards it and seeming to focus on something. Then she could hear it too. Whispering, like a chatter, indistinct and vague, as if a group of many hundreds of people were together and they were standing far away. This is what she could hear.

"Sirius?" The wizard turned to Cecilia holding the rope in his hands ready to tie around his waist. "I'm going. That was the part of the plan I didn't tell you." Seizing the end of the rope from Sirius she took a few steps backwards and stood near the centre of the arch.

"Stop, Sirius," she demanded as he bore down on her. "Listen to me or the rope goes." She held it aloft and Sirius stopped, eyeing her mistrustfully.

"It won't harm me," Cecilia continued as Sirius stared back at her. "I can be sure of that. You…you didn't even want to tell me that for you it would be death. I'm a _non-magical being_. That's what's written there – " she pointed with her other hand at the document that lay near where the rope was previously coiled. "I know as much as you what needs to be done and I will be back."

All went quiet. The echoes of her declaration continued to die away in the domed area of the Room where the arch stood and for a moment Cecilia was sure Sirius was going to slap her. Then, before her eyes he sagged, the years of suffering he had endured seeming to catch up with him in a few seconds and became all too evident on his face as it wrinkled and twisted, taking in what she had said.

"Cecilia. I – " He broke off. "Why? It's dangerous enough. You may not be able to come back, we don't know that."

"Why?" Cecilia echoed, holding the rope tightly in her grasp and tears began to well in her eyes. "I want to kiss him, one last time, Sirius. I want to touch him and have him touch me. I want to feel him next to me again. And, if everything comes to pass as Dumbledore intends how am I going to explain to him that his best friend has gone? Much as he loves me, I'm not you. He needs his Devil's Advocate."

Again, her voice petered out, the echoes of her last few words reverberating around the chamber.

"Give me the memory." Sirius held out his left hand expectantly and Cecilia reached into her cardigan pocket. The bottle was as he had given it to her, his memory, the specific one required to detect his brother at a certain place in time which he had enchanted from his mind almost twelve hours before. Then he took the rope from Cecilia's unresisting grip and encircled her waist with it before pulling out his wand.

"Colloreparus!" He pointed it at the rope whose end suddenly wove itself into the binding of the rest of the rope, tightening just enough around Cecilia's waist to be comfortable without being too tight. "Pull on it," he encouraged and Cecilia took the loop of rope and tugged. It seemed perfectly secure.

"Look, we haven't got much time," Sirius continued, stopping Cecilia, who was about to say something, in her tracks. "I was about to go. It's going to take some time to locate the horcrux."

"Two things Sirius, in case for some reason I don't come back." He gave her a stern look and Cecilia had the good grace to look embarrassed. She reached into her pocket.

"Give this to Severus." Into his hand Cecilia thrust the parchment that she had showed him all those hours ago before grabbing chain form round her neck, breaking it at the catch. "For Remus's cure. Severus'll need his DNA. Inside here is some of our hair entwined. It should be enough." Sirius nodded mutely.

"I understand why you didn't tell me, all those weeks ago, about the Lunar eclipse…you're his friend first and foremost, Sirius." But the wizard shook his head.

"I don't think I could have done as much for him as you did," he replied. "You're the very best thing that's ever happened to Moony."

And then, without warning Cecilia put a hand behind his head and lowered it towards hers. She pressed her lips against his, shyly at first. Sirius pulled her closer and supported her back, leaning over her and continued to kiss her, something he had dreamed of doing since the last time. He broke off suddenly when he felt dampness on her cheeks.

"Give that to Remus," Cecilia whispered. "Tell him…I'm doing this because I love him." The kiss, loving and tender, encored in her mind, her desire to snuggle up to Mr. Snuffles one that she had to put out of her mind. She was going. No-one was going to stop her.

She turned and faced the direction they had come and felt her foot against the edge of the archway. The cloth fluttered and flapped behind her, almost in expectation, as if it could detect her there.

"Cecilia." She turned and smiled at Sirius. This time it was her turn to stop him saying the words of protest that she could see on his face. His silver tongue would talk her out of it, that she was sure.

"Go. Once you've dropped the memory go to wherever the battle is and help your godson. Once things going to unfold there's going to be nothing anyone can do stop them."

"Hope."

"Only hope."

Grasping the rope tightly in her hands Cecilia leaned backwards, as if abseiling, and started to walk backwards, resisting the urge to hug Sirius one last time. He stood in front of her, saying and doing nothing at all, watching her descend and become engulfed in the swirling gaseous abyssness.

Sirius would have stood there a lot longer had not the course of events swung another way. Behind him he heard footsteps and he swung around.

"Snape!"

"Black!"

"Severus." Sirius changed his defensive tone, honed over the years and began to practise his newly-derived appeasing one. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you much the same but seeing that you are standing by the Veil and holding a memory bottle I can only assume that it is a hitherto secret plan arranged between you and Dumbledore to which no-one else was privy and upon which the whole of the battle hinges." Sirius stared back at Snape in astonishment before the realisation that the wizard was being sarcastic permeated his mind.

"It doesn't matter about that now." He thrust into his hand the necklace and Cecilia's own discourse with enough information to make the cure for Remus. Snape opened the paper and glanced over it before looking mistrustfully at Sirius.

"Cecilia Frobisher wrote this." Sirius said nothing. "Cecilia Frobisher is dead." At his last assertion Snape looked more carefully at his ex-adversary, who shook his head momentarily. "Cecilia's _alive_?" He took a step towards Sirius. "You didn't tell me that when you gave me the bundle of notes," he thundered.

"You didn't notice that it was altered? Who else could have managed that? Besides you didn't tell me where you took her when the Ministry found her at Remus's!"

"Where is she? What are you doing here? The Dark Lord will be here momentarily, as will the Order. Black, where is Cecilia?" Briefly, Sirius told Snape of the plan, including the small but vital change in the details.

"And you allowed her to? How long before the glamour wears off?"

"She went to give her life before, Snape." Sirius stood his ground as Snape advanced.

"But this changes everything, this is forever. There are no guarantees that she will come back."

"You allowed her go?!" repeated Snape incredulously. "She was _pregnant_, you fool. Surely even you must have noticed her lack of focus? She was hearing things that she couldn't before…bizarre things happen to a muggle bearing a wizard's child!"

"_Remus's_ child?"

"Or cubs," replied Snape harshly.

"You knew?"

"I told her she was not. I put her somewhere safe…and you bring her here have you no sense, Black?" Snape's eyes narrowed and he looked at Sirius, glancing behind him at the veil momentarily and then down at the rope.

"I don't think she _is_ pregnant…she may have been. But she survived the Dementors." He looked at Snape intrigued. "They always take a soul…" He turned and looked down into the aether, where he had seen Cecilia descend minutes ago. "…it could have been what protected her, why she is still alive."

"And she turned up on your doorstep," recapped Snape. "You didn't think to tell us about it?" But Sirius said nothing and continued to stare at the abyss that was beyond.

"I am to drop the memory, and she is to do it." From his pocket Sirius took the bottle that Cecilia had returned to him, upending it close to the veil. The stopper fell out almost before it was vertical, dropping onto the sandstone blocks that made up the floor and both wizards watched it drift beyond the veil like a leaf in the wind.

"You let her go."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that you are the only wizard here who cares for Cecilia – " Sirius looked past Snape and at the person now approaching the archway at speed staring at Snape, a look of determination on her face.

"Who's that?" asked Sirius as the witch approached, pale hair and face even though she seemed agitated.

"Tabitha Penwright. Mysteriour. She works for the Ministry." Tabitha looked at Snape in shock, the words she had intended to say evaporating in her mouth.

Tabitha shook her head. It was she who was about to tell him where the children weren't and now he was standing in _her_ Room, by _her_ artefact! With…Sirius Black!

"He's a Death Eater!" exclaimed Tabitha, astonishment giving way to annoyance and she turned to Snape. "You told him about the veil?"

"You set the Dementor on Cecilia Frobisher." Snape returned the look of accusation that Tabitha was giving him with one of his own.

"You did what?!" Tabitha and Sirius said the words in unison: she jerked her head and looked at Sirius, who in turn gave her a glare of pure anger. A feeling in the pit of her stomach began to grow and Tabitha looked away.

It had been Regulus Black staring back at her, Tabitha had been sure of it. Waiting as he had done to humiliate her, to tell her in front of a large proportion of the school that she had been confiding in _him _all those months when she thought she had been sharing her innermost raw feelings with an understanding girl. Closer up though she could see…this was Sirius Black...the man was much older, his features slightly different.

"My boss told me _all _about you." Tabitha forced herself to face Sirius Black.

"My brother told me about you. And your abilities." His face broke into a leering grin and Tabitha felt her heart sink as the humiliation reverberated in her mind. "And _you_ set the Dementors on Cecilia?"

"Yes!" she snapped back. "I did. And I'm sorry to have done…I did what I thought for the best…" She stared at Sirius now, challenging him by her forthrightness. "Haven't you ever done something controversial for something you believe in? I can understand you…" turning, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Snape, "…but he's a Death Eater!"

"Miss Penwright – "

"Silence!" she demanded. "You will have the chance to speak when the Aurors come!" Tabitha took a step forward and held her wand higher when Snape made to move. But not for long. Out of her hand her wand spun as Sirius knocked it out of her hand. Tabitha turned furiously and opened her mouth to scream that he would be taken by the Aurors too.

"He was," Sirius continued, brandishing his own wand.

"Cecilia Frobisher made that go away too, did she?" said Tabitha sarcastically. "I've sent word. I do have some power, you know…"

"She's not dead, Miss Penwright," intoned Snape. "She's just been brave enough to do something some of us could not." Unspoken words passed between Sirius and Snape. Tabitha looked down. And saw…

"…that's mine!" She ducked underneath Sirius's arm and lunged for the corner of the arch, picking up the parchment that Cecilia had left there. "Why…who…?"

"I don't think it matters any more, Miss Penwright," said Snape softly. "Cecilia Frobisher is alive and she used what you have there to carry out a deed for – " But Tabitha wasn't listening. She looked between the parchment and Snape.

"You? You took this?" Snape said nothing. Tabitha's fury began to rise and she paced assertively towards the tall wizard. "Are – you – a Death Eater?" Her words were steady and rhythmic, spoken as only a woman can when she requires specific, direct information.

"Listen." Snape lowered his voice to her in a way Sirius never thought possible. "It's true. I was once, but not any more." To Tabitha's, and to some extent Sirius's, amazement he pushed up his sleeve and revealed the hideous scar that betrayed his secret. "It is also true that Cecilia Frobisher made it disappear…cut my link to the Dark Lord…gave me a new start. I am a Death Eater no more."

Tabitha raised her eyebrows and stared at Snape. Something she didn't believe to be possible had come to pass before her very eyes. He had been solemn and his masterfulness that she was used to had been replaced by humility.

"Never mind that!" Sirius stepped between Tabitha and Snape. "Listen, there's more than Cecilia Frobisher we have to think of…what about Harry?" Snape's eyes turned on Tabitha and he folded his arms.

"I don't know. They could be anywhere. I thought you might have found them."

"I wasn't just thinking about Harry," replied Sirius. "Voldermort will find him soon enough and the other part of the plan will be put in place. Lupin."

"Remus Lupin?" Tabitha realised that the two wizards were staring at her again. "The werewolf? He's at Azkaban, or at least he was. They…executed the last of the half breeds this evening." She pushed past the two wizards and approached the veil. Snape put a hand on Sirius's shoulder as he made to question Tabitha about what she had said and he pointed towards what she was doing.

"Well the rope's safe enough…" the Mysteriour shook her head and added condescendingly, "…who does she think she is that she can go beyond the veil? It works using the memories you know, they link together by common events…that's why you need a seed memory to find what you are looking for." Snape took a step forward and stood next to her, craning his neck forward as he followed the line of the rope.

"You think you have the monopoly on the veil?!" shouted Sirius hotly making Tabitha turn round.

"And what has it to do with you?" asked Tabitha. "Let's just hope you got it right." She looked between Sirius and Snape. "She has to go carefully, from one to another. One lost footing and it's all over." She glanced at the material before continuing. "The thoughts are real there, like areas of time interlinked to one another. It depends on the memory…that's why it works…people didn't think it was possible…"

"So she's on our side, Snape?" interrupted Sirius.

"I'm on my own side. I don't approve of rebellious schemes taking place in MY Room of Artefacts involving MY veil. For all you know you could have destroyed the world with what you had here!" Tabitha waved the parchment that had once belonged to her, been stolen and then reclaimed, as if to underline her assertion.

"And why ado you know so much about all of this?" shot back Sirius.

"Because I'm the only other person who's ever done it and come back."

Just then a loud crash followed by the tinkling of what sounded like glass shot down the corridor that led back to Tabitha's office.

"Oh no!"

"It's started," replied Snape, withdrawing his wand. "We cannot go back." All three wizards stood with their backs to the archway now, their wands drawn defensively. Their anticipation was not in vain. Out of the corridor stepped someone Tabitha recognised.

"Vincento!"

And he had his wand to the throat of a boy.

"I'm sorry, Professor Penwright," said Neville Longbottom. "You were right and Draco was wrong." Tabitha took a few steps towards her friend and Vincento lowered the wand.

"I got your message Tabitha, and on my way here I found this boy where he shouldn't have been."

"Let him go!" The voice behind Vincento was one of a girl and Hermione Granger stepped out behind them. "Miss Penwright, he thinks Neville stole something of yours from the office."

"And did you?" Tabitha took a few steps towards Vincento, her friend, colleague and ally. "Did you take something from the office?" Jerkily Neville Longbottom nodded his head as Vincento produced a large, green-bound hardback book.

"It's up to you, Tabs," said Vincento. "I can take the two wizards with me, and you can deal with the children." Tabitha looked between Neville and her copy of Mysterious Mythology. She lowered her wand and began to walk towards them.

"Neville," she began, holding out her left hand. "Why did you take my book?"

"It's not yours," replied Neville, shaking a little as Vincento drew his wand closer to his throat. "It's Harry's."

"Harry?" This time Tabitha looked past Hermione and at the boy standing behind her. Harry Potter stared back at her.

"Is this yours?" She took the volume from Vincento's thin hand and threw it in Harry's direction. The boy caught it and looked at the book.

"No." Harry shook his head. "This isn't mine, or at least, it's not a copy that could help anyone understand the Universal Link." At the words Vincento visibly flinched and stared at Tabitha.

"They were misleading you, Tabs." He continued to stare at Sirius and Snape who were still standing behind Tabitha with their wands aloft. "After everything you've done and they still kept this from you."

"Let him go, Vin. It's over. In a few minutes a whole load of rebellious wizards will be here to fight Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Tabitha walked over to Vincento and lowered his arm. "To be honest I'm sick of the lot of it. Cecilia Frobisher can go hang over the veil, see if I care."

The following things happened at once. The children, all five of them, poured out of the shadows and towards Sirius and Snape, wondering what Tabitha meant by her last statement. Behind them the Weasley twins bowled through shouting aloud that Cecilia Frobisher was not in fact dead.

To the right, down the corridor of the brains further hurrying was taking place, this time sounding like several scores of feet running in one direction, shouts and screams, protests and declarations echoing into the domed cavern. Harry rushed forward too, not to Sirius but to Snape, demanding the potion that he knew he needed to take. Hermione, the quickest of the five, sought confirmation of the fact from Sirius who, on telling her that Cecilia Frobisher was indeed dangling from a rope through the veil, yelled towards it and nearly lost her footing. Both Sirius and Snape put their arms out to prevent her from falling and she stepped back, glaring at both of them.

"I can't believe you left it so late to give Harry the potion!" she screamed at a speechless Snape. "I left you with enough information. And you!" This time she stabbed a finger at Sirius. "You knew she was alive and you let her go through there!" This time Hermione jabbed in the direction of the archway.

"You! Ouh!" Hermione broke off and stepped back, looking at the two wizards who were surveying the audience that had surreptitiously appeared around them. Hermione Granger realised now that she was screaming in front of the whole of the Ministry and their assembled Aurors, the Order of the Phoenix and….Death Eaters.

Behind all of this, at the back of the group Tabitha Penwright took a sharp, unnoticed intake of breath as Vincento held onto her firmly and held his wand to her throat.

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A/N: Well? What do you think? I'd love to know!


	26. Behind the Veil

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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…beyond the veil memories floated like clouds…

The space in which Cecilia was descending might easily be described as infinite. The dark-greyness spanned out in all directions with clouds of lighter grey interspersing the space around her and this was one of the reasons why "infinite" would be a good adjective to describe the aether around her although there was no reason for her to suppose that here, beyond the veil, the place did actually go on forever.

As she descended the clouds seemed to part, as if repelled by her presence there, noise and chattering from those that passed her by entering her ear and cutting straight off, like a radio being played in a passing car. What was compelling her to head downwards Cecilia was unsure for the rope had to have an end sooner or later but she had a feeling that words like "end" and "down" ceased to have any meaning. For want of more suitable words to replace those with which she was familiar Cecilia noted her descent was bringing her down, or perhaps further in, to the space and she continued to weave her way past these clouds, areas of concentrated consciousness whose mysteries she was about to discover for herself.

All of a sudden she felt herself jerk to a halt, and Cecilia realised she had actually come to the end of the line. Around her waist the rope tightened but Cecilia was continuing to descend. An abstract thought crossed her mind as vague discomfort was replaced with hot agony: either she was going to have to get out of the rope, sealed so expertly with magic by Snape or she would suffocate as it eventually cut off access of the air to her lungs.

Choosing survival over certain death Cecilia's mind, overcome with survival instinct, compelled her to struggle with the knot of the rope while at the same time she caught her foot around a tendril no thicker than the rope around her that was attached to one of the larger memory-clouds. Fighting with every fibre of will Cecilia pressed her fingers below the ever-tightening rope and she pushed against it. It worked. Just as she had managed to secure herself to the tendril with her foot the rope unravelled itself and the end dangled just above her head, retreating slowly as the tendril attached to the memory pulled her towards it.

Knee bent Cecilia pulled herself towards the tendril, vaguely aware of the fact that she would have to find it later in order to get back out of the veil and also that she needed to catch Sirius's falling memory. She inched her way towards the cloud, hugging the tendril, which appeared to be made disconcertingly out of fog and, once she reached it, beguiled by the noises and voices, stuck her head into the misty mass.

Snippets, like film clips…sections pieced together began to play before her eyes. In this one Cecilia was in someone's garden as children played with toy wands and pretended to curse their dolls…

…she pulled her head back and looked up. Others drifted close. As they sailed past her Cecilia stuck her head into one…a junior quidditch league she surmised, from the look of the size of the players and brooms…

Cecilia pulled her head out. They were all lost memories, memories of anyone who has died in custody, along with those that had once belonged to people who had given up their memories voluntarily and those from whose minds the ministry had wiped. She put her head into the memory which was carrying her and watched this time as one of the wizard children leviosa'd her doll into the tree at the far end of the garden, the other, much younger child watching in awe at his sister. A memory. Whose, Cecilia didn't know. She wondered whether they would be like the ones that she had been privy to with Minerva and with Remus whether, if she slipped down between the swirling mists she would be a spectator therein? A growing certainty was beginning to dwell heavily on Cecilia's chest: who was _she_ to decide what to change? And even if she was the person to decide the memories could only be viewed, she could not pick up anything or interact with the images she saw.

She looked up and watched other memories, some large and some small, each tethered together with at least one but many with several more tendrils, some forming these tendrils between them as if active connections between the memories were being forged as she watched.

But there was no time to ponder her own role in all of this now, let alone how the links were made together. Overhead the memory that was Sirius's, tinged with lilac, drifted down towards her. She had to catch it. And once she did it would lead her, like a guide rope as other tendrils formed, to that of his brother.

Reaching out a hand Cecilia had to lean right off the memory around whose tendril she had entwined her foot so as to be able to catch the memory. It seemed to be accelerating as it neared Cecilia and also becoming attracted to other memories as it passed them. If it connected to these memories she knew, all would be lost. She would have little or no chance of locating it again or anything whatever to do with Regulus Black in amongst all those millions of memory clouds which were drifting around.

Just as the lilac-grey memory approached Cecilia she reached out a hand. At the same time a tendril sprouted from another cloud which had been seemingly pursuing Sirius's tethering them both together. Had this not occurred Cecilia knew that she would never have reached it.

She hauled herself off the first memory using the tendril that had sprouted, ducking as a second tendril began to sprout from another memory cloud and sticking to it like a limpet. Pulling herself up to it Cecilia closed her eyes. Here she was, on the edge. There was no going back –

– and she plunged herself into the billowing cloud.

It seemed to take a few minutes before the scene before her appeared, it was as if the people in this memory were slowly making their way forward to the front of the stage. One or two made their exit before Cecilia had a chance to recognise them but there was no mistaking the person who was standing before her, or at least that person's image, enlarged to fill the whole of the arena. Despite the fact that it had to have been twenty or so years before Petunia Dursley, her thin, pointed face, blondish hair and untrusting eyes looked back out from the photograph that a woman was handing over to a boy.

Not a boy…a young man. And not a man…a wizard.

"Y…you say that you're a friend of Lily's?" The woman looked at the young wizard her eyes narrowing in the same manner as her eldest daughter conveying doubt mingled with hope.

"Yes, Mrs Evans," said the boy. "Mr. Evans." He nodded deferentially to the man standing next to the woman holding Petunia's photograph. "I've just come from Lily and James's. Lily's as worried as you are. Both of them are."

"And you can help, can you?" The man, a short, stocky man approached the young man. The young wizard nodded and glanced down, a mannerism which Cecilia had seen several times before and recognised straight away.

"Mr. Evans, I have reason to believe that she's with my brother, or at least Regulus is involved in her disappearance, somehow. You see, Lily thinks that Petunia's jealous of your relationship with her…"

"She's our daughter!" exclaimed Mrs Evans sharply. "And has unique talents; I thought Petunia understood that!" But her tone had petered out and the couple standing before the young Sirius Black exchanged knowing looks and Mrs Evans sagged at the shoulder.

"James came round to talk to her, did you know that?" Sirius shook his head as Mr Evans spoke. "'Let me talk to her,' he said. Petunia said some dreadful things. She swore she'd never see Lily again and said that she no more cared about them as her family than she did us because we were too willing to accept magic. And then – "

"You think your brother has something to do with this?" asked Mrs Evans, returning to Sirius's comment from earlier. "I was given to understand that he's a wizard too."

"He is," replied Sirius. "But he…has a tendency to change his appearance." However Mrs Evans was shaking her head in dismay.

"I blame my daughter, Mr Black, her selfish behaviour. For putting everyone out over something as petty as this."

As Cecilia watched the scene changed and she realised that she was moving quite unintentionally towards another memory which, along with several others, had joined to Sirius's original launched memory. Her head still in the cloud Cecilia experienced it as a blurring of a scene replaced not long afterwards with another.

"Did you say Sirius had been round to see Mum and Dad?" A tired-looking Lily Potter was standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips and two pots on the stove. "_Sirius?_"

"He wants to help!" A man, almost identical to Harry stepped across the pattered kitchen floor. "He thinks Regulus is behind it all, Lils!" Cecilia watched as the young couple exchanged a version of the conversation she had witnessed between Sirius Black and Lily's parents and despite the young witch glancing over her husband's shoulder in Cecilia knew that, just as before, she was merely an interloper there.

She looked around her as she remembered the scene from Remus's memory. The old-fashioned but right up-to-date kitchen bedecked in late 1970s accessories. The table and work surfaces. Even the brown kitchenware. This was after the time she had seen in Remus's memory: Harry had been born. But Cecilia's overriding recollection was of her friend Henrietta Edwards reassuring Lily that Petunia would come round once the baby had been born, in the – Cecilia turned her head and saw the frosted glass door that led to the hall of the house. It didn't seem that much longer on than that; Lily didn't look particularly pregnant although she did have a small bump. She looked back at the scene and listened to the conversation.

"I tried to floo Henrietta this afternoon." Lily crinkled her forehead as she spoke.

"Oh yes?"

"No answer. I'm starting to worry about her James, it's not like her not to answer."

"Well I expect – "

A crack and a flash of light brought Cecilia's attention back to the kitchen. Both James and Lily were staring at the hitherto empty space on the brown and orange floor tiles and Sirius Black smiled at his friends, and then over to the pots in the stove that were stirring themselves, inhaling with relish.

"I found her. She was with my brother," he added shaking his head. "I don't know what she was doing with him, but it seemed that she thought he was a muggle. He'd altered his appearance and everything. Petunia's back at your parents'." Lily smiled and held out a hand towards James, who took it comfortingly.

"Though I don't know why I bothered though," continued Sirius, walking over to a chair and sitting down on it lazily. "She was far from grateful. I had to "Silencio" her in the end…she wasn't happy."

Of course she was put out thought Cecilia shaking her head. Petunia's parents didn't know her…clearly she went through a phase of rebelliousness because of some sort of bitterness towards them She didn't blame her: her life being put second to Lily's when actually she had magic too. And then there was Sirius, marching in with his size twelves and easy arrogance…Petunia Dursley had been bristling with bitterness when she had mentioned her encounter with Sirius Black and, from what she could see here Cecilia could easily fill in the gaps between the two. It was easily one of the reasons Petunia hated the wizard world…she could feel her resentment in Sirius's laid-back tone.

"I'm sure she wasn't," replied Lily, clear relief in her voice. "And I don't know what would cause her to run off like that, though she was behaving very strangely when I saw her last." She shook her head, smiling at James. "Thank you, thank you so much, Sirius."

"How did you know where to find her?" asked James Potter, sitting down opposite Sirius, who raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"Something going on with his _old interest_. Mother's approving," he added in a low, disapproving voice. He looked up as Lily turned to him, listening.

"Lily's concerned about Henrietta," explained James, clearly attempting to put an end to their embryonic discussion. "She can't get her by floo…"

…and then Cecilia remembered…she remembered this…she remembered remembering…knowing abut this…

…Henrietta was missing. Regulus Black had taken away Petunia Evans…

Sirius made to swing his feet onto the kitchen table but James frowned at him disapprovingly.

"So? She's been like that for months. All this going back to being a muggle. I don't think we need to worry about Henrietta."

"All the same," replied Lily reprovingly, "she _is _our friend."

"Then I reckoned that she should have remembered that when she handed in her wand…"

Cecilia waited for the conversation to continue but it felt as if the mood was changing. Her thoughts about Henrietta being beguiled by Regulus in the guise of Sirius, and how Petunia Evans was nearly the unwitting victim began to fade as the scene dissolved into an Impressionist painting and she felt the consistency of the memory changing from springy candy floss to smoke. She raised her head but this time there was no memory to which she could traverse. Others had attached to the dropped memory now: perhaps she could cross to those?

Carefully Cecilia inched back towards the tendril that she had crossed. Its length and breadth had increased though and she used this to her advantage, pulling herself back to the original memory that had contained Lily's parents and Sirius and over the surface to the other tendril. It was thinner than the one she had crossed, more spindly and from what Cecilia could tell newer connections like this one seemed more fragile.

She focused on the memory-cloud to which it was attached, wondering how this was related to Mr. and Mrs. Evans and Sirius. Was this something to do with Petunia herself? Was her repugnance at being rescued from the over-confident young Sirius about to be revealed? Or could this be the memory in which Regulus Black revealed the Horcrux and she could isolate it and return it to the wizards above?

Cecilia's speculation however was not to be realised. The tendril which appeared to be attached to the memory on which she was sitting gave way as she moved onto it plunging her down, away from Sirius's original memory. Through many memories Cecilia passed, flicking through scores of snippets before catching hold of something solid.

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Mrs Frobishe's alive?!"

Harry's incredulous exclamation reverberated around the domed chamber as he looked between Snape and Sirius. His gaze fell on Snape and he frowned.

"Don't look at me, Potter," growled Snape, his wand aloft, "I knew nothing until I got here. I think you'll find it was your godfather who chose to keep her secret." Harry wheeled round to look at Sirius who had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Never mind who knew what," shouted Ron, arcing his arm towards the assembled witches and wizards, "are you going to get that potion and take it?" Harry glanced at his friend and, with a firm nod, looked back at Snape who placed a vial into his hand. As he closed his fingers over them an inaudible cry went up, seemingly from the farther group of Ministry Aurors, who were equally challenging the Order and the Death Eaters, both of whom had in turn had raised their wands waiting, inanimate and unresisting, and for the Aurors to make a move, some of which looked bewildered at the scene before them, or very uncomfortable at the very least. Harry glanced over the scene, wondering why nothing had happened yet. And then it dawned on him: out of the three factions of wizards none of their leaders had arrived.

"Come on!" shouted Ron, pulling the arm of his friend and they followed the other young Hogwarts witches and wizards who had chosen to accompany him, scuttling back behind the Order as Mrs Weasley beckoned frantically towards them and to her relief they darted back behind them. Harry jerked his head towards the Aurors as the cry that had gone up before was repeated, this time audible and clear.

"Sirius Black!"

Through the Aurors pushed a high-ranking ministry official who had been put in charge of Sirius's recapture. His moment clearly had arrived and he was on the brink of becoming the bright shining star of the ministry.

"Sirius Black!" he panted, his combed-over hair slipping down over his face as his hat slipped off behind him. "Come quietly man, or we will take you by force." Sirius said nothing, fixing his gaze from his position by the archway to a point just over the wizard's shoulders.

"I'm warning you," continued the wizard threateningly, "no trying to resist, Black or I will – hh – " The Auror fell forward, in the space between Sirius and Snape, a large, soot-rimmed blood-red hole in his back.

From the receding corridor that led back to their office Vincento drew Tabitha back out of sight by the shoulder, wand still at her throat. For his lightness and nimbleness there was still an enormous amount of strength in his arms, neither anticipated or predicted by her in the wizard and something which had taken her aback moment before.

"Vin," she whispered. "There's Death Eaters in the Room of Artefacts." She felt him let her go and she turned as Vincento stepped away from her.

"Tabs, there's going to be a great battle here tonight," he said, his voice low and clear. "War is starting and the battle lines are drawn…which side are you on?"

Tabitha exhaled slowly and beheld her friend. Clearly if she had become involved with declaring to the wizards that their ally Snape was a Death Eater things may have become a little hairy and she silently thanked Vincento for bringing her away from the action.

"Vin, did you get my letter?" she whispered.

"What, this one?" He held aloft the parchment that Tabitha had quilled less than an hour before and she nodded.

"Tabitha why are you here?"

"I had no choice, Vin," she replied, her voice becoming shallow and sorrowful, "they knew about the veil." Her colleague crossed the dark marble floor from which the whole of the Artefacts Room was made and put a thin, delicate arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"Voldermort returned has returned," he murmured, "he's used muggle information to get to where they are now." Tabitha turned and looked at him in horror, reading the expression on his face.

"You think _I _did? You think I am a _Death Eater_?" She glanced over at Snape who, with Sirius Black were standing guard by the veil entrance and wondered how it was that he was there, trusted and relied upon and she, Tabitha Penwright was doubted by her closest friend. She looked back at Vincento whose face had softened and placed he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"No, I can't believe that of you Tabs," he replied smiling softly making Tabitha's heart flood with the generosity and self-pity.

"I've been weak Vin. Why did I just let Umbridge use me like that?"

Before her friend had a chance to answer a flash of white light brought their attention to the archway arena. It was enough to bring the half-dozen Death Eaters who were attacking with guns a full complement of valiantly defending Order using magic to a halt. Tabitha watched a figure materialise out of the darkness, in one hand holding what looked like a limp dishcloth but was in actual fact…

"Dobby!" Both Tabitha and Hermione Granger spoke the house-elf's name but the similarity ended there: whereas the student witch screamed the name the Mysteriour whispered it to herself.

"What?" asked Vincento slowly watching as the figure moved towards the Aurors.

"Umbridge…" she said aloud. And Dobby, she added silently and Tabitha moved out of the shadows. Vincento did nothing to stop her as she sidled round behind the Order hoping not to be noticed. She was in luck. Hermione's shrill exclamation had trained the attention on the Undersecretary who was standing before them holding the limp body of Dobby the house elf, watching as Hermione shouted at Umbridge again, calling out his name. Tabitha looked carefully at the elf. It didn't look as if it were breathing. Under Umbridge's coiled arm it – he – looked quite still.

"This thing?" Dolores Umbridge laughed derisively as she let go of Dobby, letting his body slump to the floor. "This house elf tried to delay me with nonsense and you – " he pointed a plump finger at Hermione, " – you, you and you and all of you children should be at Hogwarts!"

"He was probably just trying to help," shouted back Ron, echoing Tabitha's own thoughts but Umbridge wasn't interested in the house elf and she stepped over his body and towards the Ministry Aurors who looked visibly uncomfortable in her presence. Tabitha watched as Harry made to move to the crumpled heap that was Dobby but a wizard with right red hair put a hand on his shoulder, staying his course.

"I was under the impression that I instructed you personally to attack the wizards calling themselves the Order of the Phoenix." She looked at each Auror with malevolence, ignoring their silent hints there were more significant threats than the Order wizards and that their dead colleague on the ground in front of her should have been evidence enough but is seemed to pass Dolores Umbridge by completely.

"Go on," she urged mockingly, "do it…attack them!"

A moment passed. The Aurors raised their wands. From her position near the back of the Order Tabitha Penwright waited for the spells which were intended to stun, immobilise or otherwise impede. They never came. The Order, to their credit, did not raise their own wands in defence which clearly unsettled some of the Aurors but, as one, lowered their wands too, clearly defying the demands of the Ministry Undersecretary. Tabitha felt herself shaking her head at Umbridge's clear bewilderment at the situation.

"You!" she declared to the Aurors who had been fortunate enough not to have been shot. "Do your duty!"

But before the unfortunate wizard could face the confrontation before him another person was occupying the limelight. Tabitha had strode out past the Order of the Phoenix, a rush of adrenaline surging around her lymphatic system as years of repression in the role of compliant dogsbody and resulting bitterness bubbled to the surface like magma finally resisting the pressure of the enclosed volcano.

"How stupid are you!" She skirted around the body of John Johnson, a middle-aged Auror who was the most loyal wizard the Ministry employed and completely devoted to his job, nodding deferentially towards him. "Can't you see that it's not the Order who is the enemy?" She pointed into the shadows in which the Death Eaters who had initially been fighting the Order and Aurors had slunk, trying to look inconspicuous. "Those, over there, with muggle weapons!"

Silence reigned, a short but memorable monarch during which time Undersecretary Umbridge narrowed her eyes contemptuously.

"Miss Penwright, I am appalled! A woman of your diminutive ability challenging me, Undersecretary to Minister Fudge? A useless muggle-born having done neither her duty to her wizard or muggle heritage?" She turned to look at the Death Eaters who stood solemnly shoulder to shoulder. "It is perfectly plain that they no more carry muggle weapons than I do. Surely you are not so ignorant to know that wizards possess powers far and away more potent than any a muggle could possess?"

But Tabitha wasn't listening. Instead she raised her wand at Umbridge, nullifying her boss's last assertion as years of hatred pouring out of her in seconds. This was her territory, her kingdom. She was Queen here.

"What rot! How dare you?!" Umbridge turned and made to step towards the Mysteriour, clearly ignoring the wand pointed in her direction but a voice from the shadows stayed her step, turning to look in the direction of the speaker.

"But that witch is quite correct Madam Undersecretary. We _do_ have muggle weapons." The wands of the Aurors and those of the Order were now angled on the group of Death Eaters like porcupine quills. Wormtail leered at the wizards and dropped his hand containing the sawn-off shotgun which had done for John Johnson to his side. He looked at the body of the dead Auror.

"A good shot, wouldn't you agree? Takes some getting used to, but very effective." He stepped forward and stood in the triangle of the three factions holding the gun up approvingly. A low growl came from the vicinity of the Order wizards and Tabitha turned to look at them.

"The Dark Lord surprises you again," Wormtail continued. "He has used information accordingly acquired from a co-operative muggle to arm himself. You will not win."

"We'll have a bloody good try at it!" shouted Mad-Eye Moody. "Expelliarmus!"

The lilac-coloured spell bounced off the shotgun and narrowly missed Sturgis Podmore before rebounding from the wall and spattering into nothing.

"Thanks a lot!" shouted Sturgis, shaking his head, "That was nearly my ear!" Laughter from the Death Eaters began to echo at the entertainment before them.

"The Dark Lord himself has enchanted these weapons. Ingenious, wouldn't you say?" The other masked Death Eaters laughed and nodded in agreement as Wormtail wheeled round "It was the muggle Robert Penwright who provided us with the information…!"

Tabitha realised that all eyes were on her, those of her colleagues, those of the supposed treacherous Order and almost a dozen Death Eaters. Robert Penwright. The word reverberated around her mind as she sought to take this in. Her brother Robert Penwright, is that who he meant? Her brother? Tabitha felt herself take a few steps back as her mind raced to accommodate this new information. How had he got mixed up in all of this?

A coldness began to creep over her as she recalled the last few conversations she had had with Robert, of him scrolling through the theoretical possibilities for muggle weapons. Not theoretical any more, she thought to herself as she contemplated the shotgun.

The cavern containing the archway and veil, and several wizards and witches began to fade away from her mind as she felt herself overarch the scene. She was Queen here. The magic, in its mysterious form, obeyed its mistress.

"This is my realm," Tabitha declared, ignoring the fact that a gun was now being pointed towards her. "I would think very carefully before starting anything here." Rooting her feet to the ground and staring at Wormtail she missed the revolver that another Death Eater was pointing in her direction. The shot tore through the air and then through Tabitha's clothing, leaving a pool of dark liquid as evidence of success. Beside her, Umbridge screamed and then vanished leaving nothing but a wisp of smoke as the witch disappeared. Tabitha sank to her knees as Wormtail took a few steps towards her, the shotgun pointed unmistakably at her chest. She waited for the shot, thanking silently whatever had made her the witch that she was that she could interpret these mysteries hidden to so many before she died.

It didn't come.

What did was a battle, erupting like a pressurised volcano, the top blowing into the air as spells and bullets flew about. A piercing scream went up from the back of the Order group, someone yelling for the children to get down but the gunshots would never have reached them in any case because of the human shield that were the Ministry Aurors, located as they were between them and the Death Eaters. The hapless wizards did not stand a chance and many of them fell onto the dark marble floor of the chamber before they could fulfil their boss's latent demands, bullets lodging in skull, torso or limbs.

Tabitha felt her stomach lurch and blood began to ooze down her shoulder and she felt her heart pound as it fought to cope with depressurisation. As her gaze slowly met with floor level she realised that Wormtail was still standing over her, his black boots inches away from her face.

"Go down like your brother Miss Penwright," he mocked, holding the weapon close to her head. your filthy muggle blood will soon be reunited with – "

When he didn't finish, Tabitha looked slowly up the Death Eater's body until she reached his face, before continuing the line along the wand that was pressed to Wormtail's throat, down the long, Dark-Mark-inflicted forearm, to the shoulder before looking at the face of Severus Snape. The wizard's face was fixed in a snarl directed at the Death Eater, his body rigid and firm. Tabitha drew herself back as Wormtail began to laugh, mockingly and humourlessly.

"You won't, Snape," he rasped, his voice hollow and strained. "You've too much to lose, traitor."

"Go on," Snape growled, reinforcing his wand position at the Death Eater's throat. "One small move, Wormtail and my conscience will be eased knowing I had a reason."

"That!" spat Wormtail, throwing his gaze contemptuously at Tabitha who was inching back still further towards the wall by the archway and to safety. "_That's_ your reason?!" Snape said nothing but continued to stare at Wormtail, his eyes fixed on his adversary. Tabitha watched the scene waiting for one of them to make a move and she wondered what would happen if neither of them did. She shuffled further back, ignoring the pain that was in her arm. Just then a bolt of blue light shot between the two wizards from the background of battle. Hitting neither of them this gave Wormtail an opportunity. Snape withdrew his wand under the influence of a revolver that Wormtail was now pointing towards him, willed him down onto the floor towards Tabitha.

"Tell the mudblood, Snape…" Wormtail stood over the wizard who was now on his knees, watching as his adversary levelled the weapon. "Tell her what you did…"

Tabitha turned to look at Snape who at first said nothing. Then he returned her gaze, staring straight into her eyes.

"There's more to all of this than your mysteries," he said slowly, taking in her face pale and blood-spattered, "I should tell you…you've the right to know…" He trailed off as Tabitha shook her head.

"No. Don't. I know too much already – " Tabitha broke off as Wormtail began to laugh, standing over them both and shook his head mockingly.

"Not that, Snape. The other thing that you did. The muggle-baiting. The capture of muggles. The _torture_ of muggles! You were one of us then. And now – " Wormtail looked between Snape and Tabitha, "you've finally found someone you care for more about than yourself, Snape. To think it used to be Cecilia Frobisher – " With his other hand Wormtail levelled his wand.

" – Crucio!"

But and the lowering of the gun Snape was too fast for the wizard and raised his arm swiftly.

"Protego!"

The torture curse deflected from Snape's wand and against one of the walls, on course to hit Tabitha Penwright. With reflexes of a cat Snape turned again –

"Cave Inimicum!"

– before standing tall, blasting a third bolt from his wand. Wormtail, trying to reach for his gun and stumbled, the weapon and his wand tumbling from his hand as he fell towards the hard floor. He reached for the wand, but was too late. Snape stepped forward and placed a large black boot onto it. Wormtail howled as Snape stood over him, before giving the Death Eater a rather un-wizard-like kick in the ribs.

With all the strength she could manage Tabitha got to her feet. Her adversary was on the floor. He had killed her brother. They could finish him off together. But as she made to step forward she stumbled, falling heavily down as an agonising jolt spread over her shoulder as more spells from the battle behind them flew past, dissolving, hissing and spitting around them.

She watched as Snape picked up Wormtail's wand before using his own to destroy the gun and then handing the wand back to the Death Eater, who glanced in Tabitha's direction giving her a loathsome look. Honourable.

"Go!" shouted Snape as Tabitha struggled to get to her feet again. "Leave him to me!"

Another bolt, this time yellow and of a high velocity coursed towards them, hitting Tabitha full in the chest. She fell back, hard onto the floor again at the base of the archway. A disarming spell which had caught her off-guard, knocking her wand out of her hand. It rolled towards the veil, slipping innocuously over the edge and into oblivion. Tabitha cursed aloud with some well-chosen profanities. The one time she could use her abilities to her advantage and to those around her she'd now lost her wand.

A pulse of pain throbbed in her shoulder again. Her injury was getting worse. If she didn't have it removed soon, she knew, it would start to go septic. But what chance was there of this being over soon?

Her mind drifted to the scene around her. Wormtail was trying to fight Snape with what looked like a seriously impaired wand. Snape had encouraged him cruelly to show him what he was made of but there was little chance of the Death Eater actually winning. She looked at the larger arena where now more bodies of injured and dead wizards were littering the chamber. It was hard to tell who was actually winning though Tabitha hoped that it was not the Death Eaters.

An image of Robert, her brother, fixed in her mind as she began to sense a tingly feeling in her left arm. Her poor, stupid brother, motivated by greed, no doubt. Sandwiched between two demanding women. On some level she couldn't blame him for taking the easy way out and a rush of sorrowful regret made tears spring to her eyes as Tabitha wished she could have done something to help him, or if she had been a better sister by being at home with Mother so he didn't feel as if he had to resort to that.

Then her eyes rested upon the archway and she watched the material that was the veil fluttering in the non-existent wind. Had her boss taken the time and trouble to ask her Tabitha could have explained that the veil moved because of the movement of the memories contained within (and also without). She hadn't. No-one had.

That wasn't entirely true: Vincento had paid some interest.

Then there was the muggle…Cecilia Frobisher…

She couldn't do that on her own; _she_, Tabitha Penwright, had been the first person beyond the veil to return…but she had had to use a certain amount of magic, her own magic, to do so. There was no way that a muggle could navigate around on her own.

Around the chamber more shots were fired and Tabitha moved her head from the veil and looking up to see the Order being herded back into a corner, huddling back from the Death Eaters who they had been fighting so determinedly moments before.

She turned back and looked at the veil, considering again the feat which Mrs Frobisher was undertaking…the strength of the memories there…if she caught the wrong one…it could have a different effect completely…and that was assuming no other memories had been deposited by the Ministry since she had descended…

The report, that lay at the bottom of a filing cabinet in the office of the Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic contained specific details about the archway and what lay behind the veil. The memories, Tabitha had described, were lively, as much so as when they were in the minds of ther owners. Out of their physical containment they want to exist and they will move and bind with whatever they found to ensure their existence. The more power the better, that was what Tabitha had written, and concluded that this was the reason why wizards don't come back.

She looked across the rope, still anchored in the mysteries room at the corner of the arch. The ache in her shoulder had begun to dull as a plan began to form in her mind. If she could go behind the veil too and help Cecilia Frobisher, perhaps she could repair any damage and prevent any catastrophic errors.

But her strength of will was not matched by her strength of body and her injury caused her dizziness. Tabitha must have fallen onto the floor, but she didn't feel it and she waited for unconsciousness to consume her.

"Where're you going?" The Mysteriour opened her eyes and she saw Snape kneel down beside her, glancing between her face and her shoulder.

"To help," Tabitha spluttered, holding her shoulder as it pulsed agonisingly again.

"Why?" He raised her chin and she found herself looking at the wizard who had scorned her and denied her the information that she required for so many months and now not even caring that he had done so. She hadn't done it for herself in any case, she had gone to discover that which was required by Dolores Umbridge, the information that Umbridge had sent her, like a rat, to sniff out on her behalf. She glanced forward and noticed the slumped, unmoving form of Wormtail a few feet away.

"…well…" Tabitha sighed, looking into his eyes, "I don't really want this universe to change…"

Snape looked as if he was about to reply but the chance was taken from him as around them the whole chamber reverberated with the energy of a boom, like a low roar from the corridor of brains, as if something was exploding in slow motion.

In the chamber the wizards stood, the Order with their back towards the exit corridor, the remaining Aurors who hadn't been killed by the first round of gunfire and Death Eaters holding them all at wand-point.

The Aurors bore the brunt of the explosion and they sprayed up into the air like shooting stars landing around the place like meteorites. Some began to interact with the artefacts: one wizard disappeared into the tunnel and was immediately sucked in; another was fixed to a mirror, completely immobile. A couple of others tumbled towards the archway and through the veil.

Tabitha watched as Snape looked over her, towards the corridor of brains and she followed his line of sight, her heart pounding in her chest.

Figures were emerging through the smoke and debris.

88888888

Cecilia did not know how long she had lain on the memory-cloud upon which she had fallen. It had been a shock that the tendril had not been complete, or had been too weak to hold her. Memories had zoomed past her senses as she passed at speed through them: witches; wizards; some she knew; others, several others, she did not.

A thought lingered in her mind and for what seemed like several minutes but equally could have been hours or seconds, about how she was to actually get out from behind the veil. This thought was intermittently replaced by another which was, now she had lost the original memory that Sirius had dropped how was she going to locate the right memory, and the Horcrux?

There was only one thing for it Cecilia thought after she had come to the conclusion that she still was alive, other than accept that she would never return from the veil. She was on a memory cloud. Perhaps she could navigate her way back to the original one? All she needed was something she recognised.

This memory was denser than the others she had seen before. When Cecilia put her head to the interface between cloud and contents it was as if she was pushing her head between two thick pillows, as if the memory she had landed on needed to contain something large and voluminous. With some pushing and shoving Cecilia eventually got her head through into what seemed like a huge chamber and she shouldered her way through with some force, falling towards the shiny, patterned floor.

Just as she thought she was about to fall heavily onto it and sustain several injuries in the process she came to a halt inches from the floor. The wizards around her continued about their business, not seeming aware in any way that she was there. Slowly and carefully Cecilia pulled herself to her feet, looking around the chamber. And at the wizards.

To say they were dressed strangely would have been a good description of wizards any time but here, in this official looking place Cecilia noticed that there was something indeed odd about them, twelve sitting to one side, one in a section close to what she would have identified as the front and another, sitting high above the twelve plus one wizards on her level. As she looked Cecilia could just see a hat on his head bearing a logo of an intersected pair of letters. Cecilia moved over to the front row of empty seats.

Not entirely empty, a minor error that Cecilia acknowledged when she moved closer to the figures, one woman dressed in her finery, her dark hair dressed in an intricate 'do and a man in a dark black robe and a shock of white-blonde hair flowing down his back. Before she could speculate on the scene any further Cecilia's attention was directed to the figure, the wizard who had been occupying the chair in the centre of the hall.

"We are here to hear the conclusion of your Bill." The wizard sitting far above them in the chair was pointing his wand towards his throat which had the effect of increasing its amplitude. "If you are to allow this Bill to pass into law, Mr. Black, you must do so within the next hour, otherwise the New Year will come to pass and you will have to resubmit it. And I don't know about you but I have been inundated with party invitations. I would like to get to one."

Mr. Black…

Cecilia looked at the wizard at the centre of the chamber, at his features and mannerisms. Her first thought was that he truly was related somewhere along the line to the Blacks she was investigating. Her second thought was how lucky she had been to fall onto a memory which was connected to Sirius.

"Certainly, Mugwump." The wizard turned to address the twelve wizards and witches and wizards who were clearly thinking the same thing about New Year but were sitting silently and waiting patiently.

"I call upon you, Inquisitors of the Wizengamot, on this day, 31st December 1783, to pass into law the ban on association, transaction or otherwise connection with muggles. It is for the safety and prosperity of wizards that I stand here, and that you sit before me."

1783. That was the reason they looked so strangely dressed: robes with scalloped edges and shoes with buckles. Georgian fashions whilst still in wizard attire. And she was in the Wizengamot, the wizard's legal chamber. A thought passed through Cecilia's mind but before it could crystallise the wizard addressing the Inquisitors continued.

"I have overwhelming evidence to the Bill, as you can see from the lengthy document with which I furnished the Prime Inquisitor," he indicated the eight-inch thick stack of parchment stacked to one side of the Inquisitor's benches. "Briefly, the erosion of our magical culture by our close association to muggles. The sharing and collaborative working between muggles and wizards which has become more prevalent in these last decades."

Cecilia's mind raced as she recalled something from the back of her mind. Wizards and muggles. Their association. Laws to prevent this…

"Can you…cite any examples, Joseph Black?" Her suspicions were confirmed as the wizard who appeared to be the Prime Inquisitor, next to whom the parchment stack resided, voiced the wizard's name. He spoke clearly and succinctly which seemed to Cecilia to annoy Joseph Black. So, she was in a memory, someone's memory of the actual legal proceedings dividing muggles and wizards which Joseph Black had instigated. Were she not preoccupied with her task Cecilia would no doubt have marvelled at the coincidence and relished the experience of observing this ancestor of Sirius's, of whom she had associated only indirectly when she made connections with the Universal Link. Staring back to the floor Cecilia watched with interest as Joseph Black continued with his Bill.

"Indeed. I can attest from my own knowledge and over the decades. It is my experience that muggles seek only to gain power for themselves and that free exchange of ideas between muggle and wizard have resulted only in the advancement of muggle society. At present it is going through a Revolution, not social but industrial, where the know-how of wizards have been distilled for the use of muggles. I know this," he said slowly, beginning to pace before the Inquisitors, "because I, like so many others, built up connections in the muggle world, because we were under the illusion that it was the Right Thing To Do. We took pity on their inferiority and sought a way to assist them. As a result – " Joseph Black stopped and shot a look at the woman sitting a few seats away from Cecilia, who moved visibly at the wizard's stare, " – when the muggles whom I assisted realised the work I had carried out in my capacity as an ambassador for muggle knowledge they stole it and put it to their own ends. I was denied access to the society of men whom I had assisted, one in particular took the opportunity to steal something more from me. It is my belief that these muggles have their own reasons for this: to bring down wizard society through their development of power through science and technology. They intend to become more powerful than wizards and bring an end to us."

Again, Joseph Black stopped and fixed the woman a stare but this time she got to her feet, making to walk out. Across the floor Joseph Black crossed, stopping the woman in her tracks in front of Cecilia.

"Do not, Honoria. You are to hear the full case against your treacherous James Watt and what he has caused to happen here. You will sit – over there – next to your intended."

Honoria Black! As Joseph Black made his way back towards the Inquisitors she watched the woman sit back down a few seats away from the blonde-haired wizard and Cecilia tried to piece together what she could remember about her. Honoria Black, who had fallen in love with a muggle. Joseph Black introduced the Muggle Restriction laws and made her marry a French wizard…Malfus Malfoy…!

And here she was, sitting in the very courtroom listening to history being spun by Sirius's ancestor, something which had such repercussions down the decades to the present day. His Bill clearly intended to restrict knowledge to muggles and, that he had forced his daughter to be present when he did this attested to the cruel, bitter streak that Sirius himself had described to her. And…Honoria had loved…James Watt…?

"Thank you, Mr Black," said the Prime Inquisitor, pulling Cecilia's mind towards the proceedings before her. "I think we have heard enough. It is indeed worrying to us that muggles are attempting to undermine our society. It is, in fact, not the first time that you have proposed muggle restrictions?" He looked up towards the Mugwump, who shook his head in confirmation. This seemed to annoy Joseph Black, his annoyance playing on his features, but he said nothing. Instead he bowed his head deferentially.

"Indeed not. I did not have the support…the evidence…I have now. It is not just myself, as a collaborator with muggles who have attested to the plot to attack wizards. Others have given evidence akin to this." The Prime Inquisitor nodded his head.

"And of what do your Restrictions comprise?"

He had bribed wizards and used his influence to get the Bill heard, Cecilia remembered and now he was standing before the Wizengamot about to pass the most prejudicial, restrictive law in the history of wizardkind which would infiltrate every part of their lives and traditions. She sat forward and listened.

"Further to the complete severing of ties between muggles and wizards, muggle-born wizards and squibs are to carry fake wands so they can be distinguished amongst a crowd. In addition, they are to be stripped of bank accounts with contents of over ten thousand galleons, lest they become entangled in the muggle plot to overthrow us economically, thus impoverishing wizards in the years to come. And thirdly, for purity of the wizard world, pure blood marriages to be declared the ideal, with tax reimbursements for marriages."

Cecilia watched as the faces of the rest of the Inquisitors became stiff and still. Clearly they didn't wish to be there, maybe even they didn't want their names to be associated with what Joseph Black was proposing. But she could understand why he had got it through in the end. The wizards clearly didn't want to be associated with the Law that they were about to pass but, as Joseph Black had pointed out with relish earlier on, they were there for the interests of wizards. If a threat existed then they would have no choice but to act.

"Ah yes," nodded the Mugwump, aloft. "It is with our deepest congratulations that we wish to bestow upon your daughter for her own impending marriage?" Cecilia watched the colour drain from Honoria Black's already pale face and she imagined if the witch had something in her hand just at that moment she would have thrown it. As it was she sat stiffly in her chair.

"We have deliberated on the Bill you have put to us." The Prime Inquisitor stood up, and glanced over the other eleven Inquisitors. "It is our belief that muggles pose a great threat to our society. The muggle world is at war and prosperity is low. Economically, by cutting ties with their world it will guarantee that they will not be able to oppose us. In addition, to attest your claim Mr. Black we have further evidence that through science and technological progress some muggles have forged business partnerships with goblins, a situation which we consider most alarming."

"Thank you." From his high chair in the Gods of the chamber the Mugwump stood, bowing towards the Inquisitors. "You have passed what I believe to be the most fundamentally important laws of our time. Because of you wizards can now sleep easy in their beds." Fundamentally important? Cecilia shook her head. Do you know what is happening between your descendents at this moment?

"In addition to your Bill, which will become an Act of this Wizengamot shortly," the Mugwump continued, addressing Black, "we also endorse the declaration of any muggle who is deemed by a wizard to be at risk of undermining our world as misborn." Cecilia sat up sharply and looked at the Inquisitor wizards who were nodding amongst themselves. So they weren't protesting the proposal by Joseph Black but supporting him!

"Upon this declaration any wizard or creature under oath to a wizard may destroy the muggle. A wizard who has exterminated one on the basis of knowing they are misborn shall be exempt from prosecution."

"Curor in Potentia!" The wizard sitting next to Honoria Black got to his feet and shouted the words to the Inquisitors, the Mugwump and Joseph Black in a thick French accent. "Curor in Potentia! Power upon Bloodshed!"

No, thought Cecilia in horror. It can't have begun that way. Surely there must have been some so of resistance to it all? Those wizards can't have just sat there and merrily waved it all through?

"Well spoke, that man!" The Mugwump smiled and waved back at Malfoy. "Power amongst bloodshed, eh? Perhaps that should become your family motto, Black?"

"Per'aps," replied Malfoy, in his thick accent. "You 'ave already engaged the services of a Mr. Ludd, have you not, Meester Black?"

"Indeed," replied Joseph Black. "Mugwump, under the orders of my soon-to-be son-in-law the aforementioned gentleman has been well furnished with gold to resist the advances of the science and technology of muggles."

Ludd? As in the Luddites? Muggle history told a different tale, of workers destroying machines because it had made them, as skilled workers, unemployed, starving them into action.

"Excellent!" The Prime Inquisitor beamed approvingly at Black. "Good work, Joseph. I mentioned to the fellows of your previous success. The King of Great Britain is now considered by those around him to be mad. A physician was summoned when he told his eldest son he had been talking to little wizards in the fireplace."

Only Honoria Black sat stiffly and did not acknowledge the Prime Inquisitor's assertion; the rest of the wizards, the eleven in the benches, the Mugwump, Black and Malfoy all laughed in support, and presumably at the fate of King George.

Cecilia shook her head in disbelief. Those wizards speaking like that… how dare they! How could they! When all that separated Joseph Black and the rest of them over there and her over here was a random selection of proteins assembled in a certain sequence, allowing them to metabolise energy in a different way? A difference that had worked to her advantage by allowing her to pass unharmed beyond the veil?

"If we are quiet finished, I would like to attend a function now," said the Mugwump, disapparating and then reapparating in front of Joseph Black. He held out a hand. "Bravery, Black. Our children and our childrens' children will thank us, you know!"

"It's not true…it won't turn out like that!" Cecilia heard herself shouting in vain. "Muggles, many muggles will die, as will wizards when you pass this!"

"And your recruitment programme for the Force?" The Mugwump took Joseph Black's shoulder and headed towards the door. Cecilia began to move after them, resolving not to miss any of the conversation.

"Excellently. We need only to eliminate those who stand in our way: Watt's associates…Priestley, Boulton, Wedgwood, Darwin to start. Others who question our authority. The unfortunate incident with the village in Derbyshire was entirely coincidental but it does show how effective out methods are as well as leaving behind very little evidence. Auld Magic."

"What?!" Cecilia knew her protestations were hopeless: they could not hear her in the memory but the anger at their casual severing of muggle-wizard ties and the persecution of muggles who opposed them had rankled with her. It was almost as if she had witnessed the birth of the Death Eaters as the two wizards spoke. The Mugwump tapped the side of his nose knowingly and Cecilia felt the urge to pull him back by the shoulder and thump him.

"Do you know how much damage you're doing?!" Cecilia yelled at their retreating backs as the wizards made their way towards the door of the Wizengamot. "What you've started, Voldermort's continued! You could have just talked to your daughter, there was no need for this!" Both wizards turned round, glancing at one another briefly.

"You've condemned your ancestors to a life of struggle and strife. There'll be wizard deaths, there'll be riots!" She watched wide-eyed but defiant as Joseph Black walked towards her.

"What did you say?" Cecilia glanced behind her but could not see who Joseph Black was speaking to.

"You're so wrong," she muttered. But instead of stepping past her and talking to someone else Joseph Black took a few more steps towards her, looking at her quizzically.

"I said, what did you say? Now I ask, who are you?" There was no mistaking it. Joseph Black was speaking to her.

"It doesn't matter." The Mugwump who had accompanied Black across the floor stood next to him. "Time in custody will explain why such a witch as this, in such a bizarre mode of dress, is present in the Wizengamot."

"Who let you in? Was it _her_?" Joseph Black pointed past Cecilia and she turned, taking in Honoria Black's dejected expression and a spark of anger passed through her. "Speak woman, or by Merlin the Mugwump can take you off to loosen your tongue!"

"And you think your descendents will be proud of you?!" replied Cecilia hotly. "Because of what you've done tonight you've caused them more harm, distress, upset than ever you can imagine!" She shook her head in annoyance as Joseph Black made to grab her arm but Cecilia stepped away.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded as Honoria Black walked past her father and the Mugwump, making for the door.

"A long way from here," replied Cecilia, her heart jumping in her chest. How could she be interacting with the people here? These were memories, she was a mere visitor.

"But you're not a wizard." The Mugwump narrowed his bulging dark eyes as he analysed her.

"No," she replied. She was in a memory. As such she wasn't really here. She could transcend the memory, and that's exactly what she must do. Fast.

"Then you're a _muggle_! Tell me muggle, how can you be standing here?"

"Take me to your leader," Cecilia managed, cringing inside at the cliché. "Let me come with you to somewhere more convivial and I'll tell you everything.

At first it looked as if Joseph Black was about to argue but he made the mistake of glancing at the Mugwump who shrugged whilst continuing to stare at Cecilia.

"Go to your party, Taupin…I'll deal with this."

To her amazement the Mugwump shrugged again and turned, following the twelve Inquisitors out of the door to the Wizengamot. Once the door boomed shut Joseph Black turned to Cecilia again.

"Of course, muggle." Cecilia glanced at Black as he gestured towards the back of the Wizengamot, his voice in familiar honeyed tones. "Tell me all you can and I promise you that you will return safely to wherever you came – "

Cecilia ran.

" – from…"

Towards the doors which she had seen the Mugwump and Inquisitors had passed moments before. Behind her, the shock of her abscondment stalled him for a moment, though it was just for a moment. Cecilia knew from the thumps on the floor that he was running too, and gazing. Her only hope was to make it through the doors or to wherever the outer limits of the memory was.

"Stop!" Joseph Black screamed the demand towards her. "You are a spy! Muggles are weakening the powers of wizards!"

The doors were closer now. Around her a bolt of purple light whooshed past her, narrowly missing her right hand. Cecilia felt the heat of the spell across the back of her hand...she could _feel_ here. And if she could feel, then she almost certainly could die. Suddenly the enormity of her task behind the veil took on a whole new meaning.

"Muggles are parasites!" Behind her Joseph Black was gaining. Cecilia saw the wizard in hot pursuit. She turned to face the way she was going, towards the doorway and beyond.

She had to get there, she must. She must get out.

"You are _misborn_!"

Cecilia got to the door, resisting the urge to turn and shout back something scathing to Joseph Black who clearly thought he had said something clever. She flung open the door and looked for the pillow-like folds of the memory.

"I'll get you, misborn muggle!"

Below her an empty nothingness. She could see neither the interface between the memory and its outer shell nor other memory clouds, tethered together or otherwise. Behind her…one irate wizard. There was nothing she could do as the echoing footsteps of her pursuer grew louder and louder.

And then she saw it. Her weight was making what she was standing on vibrate…there was another…almost invisible to the eye and blending in with the charcoal-grey aether.

"Muggle!"

…perhaps she could jump to the next one…the near-invisible memory was moving…if she timed it right...

"You will talk!" Joseph Black, the sixty-odd year-old wizard who had just enacted the greatest division between muggles and wizard since the dawn of settled civilisation made a grab for Cecilia's arm.

…closing her eyes, she leapt…

A whoosh beside her and the memory that had been before her slipped past. She screamed, waving her arms round frantically...nowhere there was nothing was going to be good. Cecilia closed her eyes…she still had a few strands of the passing memory and seemed to be holding it steady but, writhing with the other hand the grip of Sirius's ancestor was too much and she had to let go. Joseph Black laughed.

"You are going to wish you had never sought us, muggle," he said, pulling out his wand as he hung Cecilia out with one arm over the edge of the memory, raising it malevolently. "I am going to – "

But whatever he was going to do was lost within a roar as Cecilia's foot landed in the soft stomach of the wizard. She fell, but not without taking a handful of the memory from which she was falling in her grasp.

Plunging through memories again Cecilia's mind fixed on one thing as a diminishing figure hopped around in fury. She could alter memories. When she found the horcrux she could destroy it.

88888888

From the swirling fog and mist two wizards appeared and a hush descended in the chamber. Slowly emerging from the dimness the wizards from all sides watched as Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore were revealed to them. The effect was as if to bring a fuzzy picture into focus using a camera lens and the factions paused in their own conflict and watched in various states of awe, horror or anticipation as the mighty sorcerers displayed their might before them.

Whispers between the wizards now sprang up as Dumbledore directed the Death Eater into the path of the others, his shots weak and his aim inaccurate. When the Death Eaters noticed this a murmur of contempt began, spurring on Malfoy to drive Dumbledore back towards the Aurors and Order (who were now essentially one).

"Voldermort sends a follower to fight me!" shouted Dumbledore, stepping slowly backwards under the rain of high-energy curses falling towards him like shooting stars, "for he fears to face the truth." His voice rang out through the chamber as the Death Eater drove him back. "He has too much fear!"

But it was patently obvious to those watching the duel that he was losing. The Head of the Order of the Phoenix forged a furrow in the group driven back by the might of Lucius Malfoy. From their ranks murmurs of uncertainty began to grow and, complementing this, laughter as the Death Eaters uttered their own undisguised contempt.

"The New World will be in his hands," hissed Malfoy as Dumbledore caused the Order to separate into two groups around them. "And he needs muggles to keep the cogs turning. I can't deny Dumbledore that they have their place, scurrying around like rats – present company accepted," he added, shooting a look at Wormtail's body behind him. And then he stopped advancing. This was mainly due to the fact that Dumbledore had stopped retreating. Other wizards, those from the Order and a couple of Aurors behind them flanked the wizard on both sides, wand arms raised, their wood pointed towards Lucius Malfoy. The Death Eater dropped his arm lazily and sneered, glancing around at the Order wizards.

"And now your company is assembled Dumbledore, I will have great pleasure in reducing your power to nothing in readiness for the Dark Lord himself. We shall watch you die. Every. Single. One of you!" Behind him a couple of the taller, stockier Death Eaters guffawed horribly, the noise echoing around the chamber, back and forth between the two enclosed walls between which the wizards were standing, several of them back to back defending the area territorially.

"Or. You will hand over the muggle, and you have the Dark Lord's word that the wizards assembled here and the children – " he strained towards the back of the group where Harry and the others were standing, several of the Order firmly in front of them will go free, " – so that you may provide him with at least a bit of a challenge."

"Mrs Frobisher is not here," replied Dumbledore evenly. "I believe you are in receipt of the Daily Prophet, Lucius. Mrs Frobisher was murdered by Dementors on the information of an underage wizard – " But Malfoy shook his head as a clatter and clash behind them caused many of the wizards to stare at the intrusion.

"Mrs Frobisher's alive!"

"Idiots!" shouted Bill Weasley as his twin brothers stumbled into the chamber. Fred and George looked around at those assembled, waiting for the news to be greeted with acclaim. Instead the Order were staring at them angrily while the Death Eaters hissed at the now-obvious lie that Dumbledore had clearly just told.

"She is here," concluded Lucius Malfoy, nodding with satisfaction as the twins were ushered towards the back of the Order to scoldings from both of their parents, "though I must admit that I had it on good authority before those two arrived. You have a traitor in your midst, Dumbledore."

"Prove it!" The shout came from the back of the Order and between a ripple of wizards moving out of the way Harry moved towards Malfoy, standing next to Dumbledore, his wand aloft.

"Harry," murmured Dumbledore warningly, but the young wizard ignored him.

"Prove it," he repeated, his tone firm and his wand aloft. "I want to know who you think is a traitor, Mr. Malfoy."

"Ooh!" called a female voice from behind Lucius Malfoy. "Proper polite, and everything." Bellatrix took a few steps towards them, pausing at her brother-in-law's right-hand side. "Why don't we prove it, eh brother?" She scanned the wizards before her, each of them eyeing her back with equal contempt as if proposing a suitable candidate. From Tabitha's position, stooping as she was near the body of Wormtail with Snape near the arch the scene looked not dissimilar to piranhas toying with their prey.

"Yes," nodded Harry, turning to glance at the Order. "Traitor. Step forward and show yourself."

Amongst the Order a ripple of communication occurred travelling like a wave over a calm ocean. Some jostling near the back made Harry hold his breath but, as he watched none of the two-dozen Order came forth to claim the title. He glanced at Dumbledore before looking back to Malfoy. As he did so a figure pushed past him and walked on, positioning themselves between Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. A cackling filled the chamber borne from a single source. Bellatrix had thrown her head back in delight as the ripple of noise became sharper and more discordious.

"Shall I reveal to the poor fools in front of us what it was that you promised the Dark Lord?" Malfoy turned to the traitor at his side. Sirius Black shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with his godson as Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"I will." He stared past the Order, as if he was talking to a spot on the wall behind them. If any of the wizards before him had anything to say about Sirius's betrayal they were too dumbstruck to voice it. Instead Sirius's words were what bathed all present momentarily as he described the deal between himself and Voldermort.

"So you see, I had to let Cecilia Frobisher do this, for I cannot…or rather, I cannot and _live_." He looked at Dumbledore momentarily before glancing across to his godson. "It was for you, Harry, and only you. I will bring back your parents and you can live in peace…"

"No!" screamed Harry, his emotions over-riding his cool-ness and collectiveness as the realisation that his father figure had been standing in front of them all revealing dreadful deeds and motives. "You…you can't have done. You cannot have been with them!"

"Oh but he has you see." Lucius Malfoy's honeyed voice oozed around the chamber. "Ever since Dumbledore told you about the prophecies. The Dark Lord surmised there was a way back."

"Through my brother," confirmed Sirius.

"You see Dumbledore," Malfoy continued. "Blood _is_ thicker than water. Sirius has merely clung onto what he holds most dear, that of his family. You underestimated what loneliness would do. The soul of our Lord can be pieced together thanks to pertinent and vital information in the way it couldn't last time and ironically…the muggle is going to do it for us."

In front of the two Death Eaters and their newly-revealed accomplice outrage and fury was shouted and screamed in no uncertain terms.

"You sent her to her death, for nothing, Sirius?" Harry's voice rose above the rest and pierced the air, his sentiment summing up exactly what each and every wizard in the Order was feeling.

"Not for nothing, Harry," Sirius sighed, like a child not explaining to a parent well enough the reason for their minor misdemeanour. "For you. To rid you of the curse that has been with you since birth. Her death will be nothing, for the boy who lived...for my friends who are to be resurrected…for my cousin…so she can remarry…"

"No!"

Nymphadora Tonks pushed past Dumbledore and stood, fists on hips, in front of her cousin. Her hatred for the other two of her family was clear in her stance and she stared at Sirius with a look of disbelief and fury.

"No." Tonks's voice dropped low and she focused her gaze on her cousin. "Don't tell me that…you don't mean to say…"

The grin on Sirius Black's face and the offhand nod was enough to say, well actually yes.

"I did it for you, Dora – " He turned sharply and looked at his aunt and uncle. "Bellatrix, it's gone now, hasn't it?" Delight played on the face of the witch as further realisation caused Tonks's face to crumple. Sirius in turn grinned heartily.

"The werewolf?" She nodded swiftly at Sirius. "It was a good job my dear brother-in-law here was wearing dragonskin under his robe the night it bit…" Bellatrix placed a delicate hand on Lucius Malfoy's shoulder and the wizard nodded in agreement, "…but nevertheless…it bit…and now it is…exterminated…" She took her hand and placed it onto her nephew's shoulder. "Dear Sirius…" she mused, "…always pretending family didn't matter."

"Evening, Bella," Sirius replied. "Killed many muggles tonight?"

"Not as many as you by the sounds of it – " she nodded her head towards the veil, " – yet."

"Why…?!" Harry screamed his protest at his godfather, the one person who he thought he could rely on for anything. "Sirius, why?"

"For him! My family! To save his family, what little I have left of it…" This time Sirius's cool demeanour about his defection was replaced with frustration, leaked out through high pressure. "Tonks was supposed to marry Lupin, not a pathetic muggle…but now Remus is free of this world, free of this humiliation! He will live again without the indignity of his condition, free of her and you, Harry, will be free too." He stooped a little to Harry's height and proffered a comforting hand towards him. Harry raised his wand defensively. "All you need to do is to take the potion, Harry, and all this…everything you've ever dreamed of will be true."

Turning quickly Sirius made a run in the direction of the archway. The Order and Death Eaters watched as he neared, grinning and leering towards it with glee. From his position behind it Severus Snape made a leap, like a cat, bringing the treacherous wizard to the floor, just missing Mad-Eye Moody, who clearly had the same idea. Instead, the elderly wizard continued his trajectory towards the archway and stared down, at the fluttering veil. Behind them the Order leaned towards the arch too, peering in their direction.

"Can you see her, Mad-Eye?" Arthur Weasley called out from the back of the crowd. "Is she really down there?"

"There's a rope," called back Moody. "And clouds."

"Is she down there?" repeated Snape, his gruff words made difficult by the struggling of his former adversary underneath him."

"She is…but I cannot see her, there are limits even to my genius, Snape!" But the wizard was not listening. Snape had turned his attention to Sirius who he had now let go, holding into only by the ankles.

"Sirius, _you_ were supposed to go." Snape spoke his words loudly and firmly so that the revelation was not lost to those around them. "Your deal, at Christmastime, with Dumbledore." Sirius struggled to turn and look at Snape. From Tabitha's vantage point it looked as if he was trying to wriggle free.

"I couldn't lose her _again_…!"

As one, Order, Death Eaters, Aurors, Mysteriours and children stared at Sirius Black. What was he saying? What did he mean? It seemed that Snape knew, and he continued with the conversation.

"You _kept_ her…?!"

"Everyone believed she is dead, but I kept her Snape, just as you say. I knew I needed her, and not just for the veil – " He watched his former adversary raise his wand in a familiar gesture following the tip with his eyes. Behind him Lucius Malfoy snorted at the scene as their former ally stepped towards their newest.

Just as Tabitha, the Death Eaters and the Order and even Snape himself thought that he was about to attack Sirius Black Dumbledore moved. It was almost un-noticed to those further away from them that he extended his hand and looked between the two wizards advance.

"Severus. He's not one of them." He moved his hand towards Snape's intended victim and looked at the wizard. "Sirius. Rejoin us."

Slowly, Sirius Black turned to look back at Dumbledore. He was the wizard who had been his headmaster, who had vouched for him at his trial and who was now simultaneously his leader and his enemy.

And then time let its guard down and allowed its relativistic nature to be revealed to anyone who cared to look. Relativity, so Einstein once explained, was what made spending an hour with a beautiful woman feel like a minute and what made sitting on a hot stove for a minute feel like an hour.

It was the latter analogy which was pertinent to the situation now. The scene played out seemed slow-moving and lethargic, as if it was taking hours. Sirius took a lazy look at Snape before making a move towards Dumbledore. At the same time Malfoy raised his wand, replacing Snape as the aggressor. Behind Dumbledore and Sirius the Order angled their wands and behind Malfoy the Death Eaters lifted both wands and guns.

In reality though the outbreak of the heart of the battle took mere seconds. Ceasefire seceded out-and-out battle as both sides of wizards launched attacks simultaneously, the best of the best of both factions pitted against one another. At the back of the Order's number no longer were the children being shielded from the battle as everything it had was concentrated on challenging the enemy.

"Come on!" Fred and George were harried by Harry, who had returned to the back of the Order into joining them, as they too fought the Death Eaters. The twins looked at one another for a split second as if they hadn't heard their brother's friend but soon stepped side-by-side of Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were further forward at the right-hand side of the group, leaving Neville and Luna to defend from the left at the rear.

"You take this end," cried Harry as he deflected a couple of bullets from an inept Death Eater who had foolishly chosen to angle the barrel of his gun towards the ceiling. To his right, Ron glanced at him worriedly, exchanging glances with Hermione.

"Where're you going?" he called.

"Snape." Before them, the ex-Death Eater, Potions Master and covert Order member seemed to be losing a small battle in which he was engaged between two Death Eaters. He looked to be speaking to them but from the children's position about what Harry could not hear.

"He can handle it!" shouted back Hermione. "We need you here!"

"And I need the potion!" Harry shouted back. "Otherwise we'll just be at stalemate!"

You won't take it.

A voice in Harry's head appeared as if he had thought it himself. He shook it away, defending his transcendence across the dark, hard floor. Next to his Potions Master he fought shoulder-to-shoulder, his effort contributing to the decline of the second Death Eater who had had the misfortune to challenge Snape to a duel wand-to-gun.

"And what can I do for you, Potter?" From his lips the words curled pungently as he lay in a few good blows to the defeated Death Eater, who sank to his knees before him.

"The potion. Please, Professor. Can you give it to me now?"

Without questioning, without biting bitterness or caustic sarcasm Snape reached into his robe with his left hand and within seconds the wizard had extracted two small, gothic-shaped vials.

"Take care, Harry," he replied as he gave the vials over to Harry, pressing them deep into his hand. "These are all I have. Good luck."

Seconds later, Snape had turned stiffly from Harry and was fighting his third Death Eater, deftly aiming spells to disarm his adversary. Harry turned, pocketing the match and base potions in his trouser pocket before withdrawing to the area in which his friends were fighting. A Death Eater lay before them, seemingly unconscious.

"Congratulations," commented Harry approvingly. "How did you manage that?"

"The idiot kept on shouting how guns were going to kill us all," Fred replied, his voice light with mirth.

"But then he turned it round and pointed it at himself." George gestured towards his wand towards the Death Eater's head. "Shot off his own ear."

"Then Hermione immobilus'd him," added Ron, grinning in his friend's direction.

"Well, let's hope they're all that stupid. I don't think Bellatrix Lestrange or Draco's father are going to be that easy to defeat."

"No, indeed," commented Hermione, looking towards the centre of the battle as Dumbledore had once again taken up wand against Lucius Malfoy who had himself seemingly shunned the idea of muggle guns.

"Got the potion?" asked Ron as a group of Death Eaters looked in their direction.

"Here." Harry tapped his pocket.

"Well, you'd better take it," continued Ron, eyeing the approaching wizards. "Voldermort'll be here soon." Harry looked at his friend, about to agree with him and reach for the base potion vial but he hesitated, shaking his head.

"Why?" asked Ron, levelling his wand. Harry did so too and stood between him and Hermione.

"Not yet. It's only when Mrs Frobisher's done what Sirius sent her to do that he'll return to full power. If I take it too soon, he'll be here, it'll be like a trigger – " he cast a wordless "Expelliarmus" spell in the direction of the two short Death Eaters who dodged it easily.

"Yes," replied Hermione. "He'll be here…he'll be whole…you'll be able to defeat him…"

"Voldermort will never win." Dumbledore shook his head in the direction of Snape while he continued to fight Lucius Malfoy as the wizard attempted to engage the Death Eater with the Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Whether it was to do with his damaged wand or if instead he meant to glance in the direction of the archway and to where a figure upon whom another Death Eater was advancing, Snape was not sure. He decided to pursue to latter.

"If you say so." The ex-Death Eater heard Malfoy laugh as he retreated, ducking low as a round of volley fire from a second Death Eater break up some of the Mysteries in the first corridor. A flock of bats erupted from one and from another, a casket, black liquid oozed. Had he, or any of the Order noticed, he (or indeed they) would have seen that some of the Death Eaters appeared to be discarding their weapons, those not engaging in on the front line with the slowly-diminishing number of Order members disappearing too. Had they (or he) looked longer, they would have seen that they had appeared in the ante-chamber, the corridor through which Tabitha had once taken the wizard to show him the arch, the main way from her office to the veil and in which most of the mysteries were stored. Snape did, however, move past Sirius Black, taking the opportunity to stupefy him mildly as he went.

"Snape! He was on our side!"

"I know, Moody. Duck!"

In response to the bearing down of one of the Death Eaters who had not vanished she began to shuffle back towards the archway as the wizard concentrated not on her but on destroying the mysteries on the shelves behind her.

"No!" Tabitha shrieked. "Not the mysteries…!"

By the time Snape had made his way over to Tabitha he found her balled up to one side of the archway. In a manner unprecedented Snape reached down her arm and extracted her hand which she unresistingly gave him. The rest of the ball of witch uncurled and Snape was a little taken aback to see the distress on her face.

"What, Miss Penwright?" His voice was soft and steady, compelling Tabitha to no longer keep the secret that she had fought to conceal from him since she had brought him into the Room of Artefacts.

"…the mysteries, " she sighed, "…I am…broken. Because they are gone, I am useless…"

"Yes you are, aren't you?" asked Snape, his tone contrasting with his choice of words. "Now…take me to the Mysteriour who solved the Veil..."

Tabitha smiled at him, confidence welling in her stomach as she felt something strange happen. She felt energised, as if her body was filling with muggle electricity…

…but all her mind had gone blank as around them, the prophecies in the far-off corridor fell to the floor, Death Eaters destroying them in whatever way they could, but to her ears the destruction sounded like beautiful music as Snape reached up and stroked her hair…

…drew her to her knees as he knelt to her level…pulled her towards him…kissed her…

He broke off as suddenly as he had started and shocked Tabitha smiled back at him.

"Rest," he murmured as he leaned her against the back of one of the archway. "I have no doubt you will know what to do very soon."

From the floor Tabitha took her own wand, still embarrassingly fresh-looking for something which was eighteen years old, and replaced the one in Snape's hand with it.

"Go," she urged. "Do your duty."

Moments later Snape was using the surprisingly dynamic wand to defend the students who seemed to have already had a rough time of it in the face of the Carrows, who had, it seemed, injured Hermione and were dividing the small group into ever smaller ones.

"Mr Potter, you should now be considering taking that potion." With ease Snape drove back the Death Eaters towards the original area in which the original Death Eater groups had stood allowing Harry the opportunity to assist.

"I know…but right now Professor, it doesn't seem quite the right time…"

Snape drove the Carrows further back, immobilising Alecto and bearing down on Amycus. As they passed by the veil Harry stopped, turning to face the flickering ragged material.

"Potter! Come away!"

"Where are you, Mrs Frobisher?" The veil flicked beguilingly…hypnotically. The noises from behind it seemed to be telling him something but…what was it?

"Harry!" The shrill voice of Mrs Weasley penetrated to Harry's consciousness but he remained fixed to the spot, standing still with his hands to one side. He closed his eyes.

Harry Potter…

Just as his name appeared as a voice in his mind an explosion behind him made Harry turn suddenly and he watched as the golden cloud of debris and energy coalesced into…

"The Dark Lord!"

…Voldermort.

88888888

….down…down…through endless memories Cecilia fell. Around her the ghosts of events that had long since come to pass sped past her like advertising posters on an underground tunnel. Cecilia didn't know how long it had taken for her falling to feel like nothing but when she realised that images were not passing before her eyes she looked around.

Nothingness still surrounded her as she looked from right to left and it was only when she raised her left hand that she realised from the stolen strands of her last memory a tendril had sprung a shoot attaching itself to no less than two memories. She was no longer falling. She was attached to memories.

Under her grip the tendril felt firm and tentatively Cecilia pulled upon it. It didn't give way, far from it. Unlike the stem which had betrayed her at the start this seemed firm and secure and she pulled herself along it as the tendons of her upper left began to pull tortuously. She mustn't let go, this Cecilia knew, not to the strands and she gritted her teeth as her shoulders bore her bodyweight until she was able to pull herself up onto the memory. And then she loosed the chunk of memory-cloud that she had torn from the memory of Joseph Black and the Wizengamot, which flew from her hand into the space and was immediately surrounded by several other clouds each attached to others. They jostled with one another, some floating away and some pressing on as if a proto-consciousness within each one was determining the value of attaching to the small memory that Cecilia had held.

Cecilia lay back and looked above her. As far up as she could see (and as far as she could determine that way was "up") there seemed to be a small dot of light. Could this be the veil, she wondered. Could that be the way back to her world, and the people she knew? But she hadn't completed what she promised to do: there was no point speculating about whether that was the way home until she had found the Horcrux and destroyed it.

Surely it was only a matter of trial and error. If she could find a memory of Sirius she could probably find another where he was communicating with his brother. And once she had found Regulus she would be able to find it. The part of Voldermort's soul that Regulus had abducted and put beyond detection. She must destroy it.

Ignoring the muscular ache in her shoulders Cecilia turned over and felt the memory with her hands. She might as well start somewhere and this on was as good a memory-cloud as any other. Soft, like the first two she had encountered, the memory had the texture of warm candyfloss…

…she stuck in her head…

…and was surprised to see a wizard kneeling on the rug in front of a fireplace, his head stuck right in the hearth. Cecilia was even more surprised to see someone she knew. Sirius Black was talking to the back of the fireplace but to whom he was addressing Cecilia couldn't be sure. She moved slowly towards Sirius, looking at him and waiting for him to turn round. But he didn't. Instead he continued to talk to the hearth.

"…I walk through this funny little world of yours and I don't notice it, not many wizards do…we're too strong…but you make me weak…"

Cecilia stopped in her progress towards him, struck by the tenderness of his words. Who was he speaking to? And were they replying?

Before she could speculate or even wait to see what happened next Cecilia felt herself jerk to the right and she began to move, just like she had done from the first memory. The scene dimmed and faded and Cecilia felt as if she was rushing sideways towards an unknown destination. She had barely enough time to gather her senses when the atmosphere of this memory made her freeze and look around her. Rain was pouring all around her, or so it seemed and terror began to well in Cecilia's stomach as a storm blew open a window behind her and a crack of lightning illuminated the room.

In the far corner a bed and in the bed a person. Cecilia stared back at the person and she realised that it was a child, pyjama-clad and staring right back at her. She made to speak but no sound came out except for a brief whimper as another crack of lightning punctuated the pouring of the rain.

"Y...you…" The child began to near Cecilia and as it approached she could see it was a boy of only about seven or eight who was wandering towards her holding a book.

"Me?" Cecilia managed, stooping automatically to the boy's height but he continued to stare in the spot where Cecilia _had_ been standing. He wasn't looking at her but someone behind her.

Something.

For when Cecilia turned she looked into the face of something she recognised. She opened her mouth to scream and run but neither of these things happened. The werewolf stepped to one side and narrowed its red eyes.

"You," the boy repeated. "You've come for the book. But you shan't have it."

And then Cecilia recognised where she was. Remus had taken her back through his memories several times to when he and his family lived in a house not far from Oxford. She recognised the room…

…fair-haired boy…book…werewolf…

…pieces of the jigsaw began to fall into place…

"Remus!" Cecilia screamed at the boy. "Give him the book! It won't mean anything to him!" But the boy just continued to stare at the werewolf, clutching the large leather-bound tome tightly to his chest. Fenrir Greyback, in his lupine form, howled.

From behind the door and further away in the house Cecilia heard footsteps. Remus's father coming to protect him. But it would all be too late…too late to save him from being bitten…

Cecilia launched herself at the werewolf. Not that it was ever going to do that much good but it so happened to be just at the moment when the creature decided to attack. It had not banked on a force winding it in the stomach as it went for its prey and Cecilia's blow caused both of them to fall towards the window. The werewolf howled again out of anger now rather than to cause fear in its victim and it thrashed around on its back as its assailant found herself somersaulting out of the bedroom window and into the dark and stormy –

– Cecilia looked up and saw another memory-cloud. For a good few minutes she watched it swirl as she came to terms with what she had just seen and what she had just done. Had that really been her Remus? And had she really attacked Fenrir Greyback? Had it been enough to prevent him from biting him?

She barely had time to think when she felt herself sinking. This memory felt like thick blancmange-like custard and Cecilia began to writhe in it which did not do anything at all to help her other than to make her sink faster. She held her breath as her face approached the misty mass and waited for the thing to either reveal another memory here or otherwise suffocate her as it dragged her beneath. It didn't take long before the former happened and Cecilia was amazed to find that the inside of this memory was now the consistency of cool dense air, of the same ilk as the atmosphere you find on a cold day.

Cecilia was staring down into a Hogwarts classroom. It looked to be the Potions classroom from the look of the shelves stacked to one side containing all manner of eyes of newt. The fireplace was the same too, a wide, undulating spray of marble. There was no-one in the room and nothing else from which she could discern anything of note.

Just as she considered that whatever was compelling her to select memories for her had got it wrong Cecilia watched the door open, one which, she noticed, had not changed in the intervening period between then and now. It certainly reverberated in the same way that it had done less than six months before when Cecilia had stormed out of the classroom on more than one occasion through her frustration with Snape. This time the young wizard waited for it to vibrate to silence before locking it magically with a short sharp spell.

If this didn't have her attention immediately then the fact that the wizard strutted over to the teacher's desk at the back of the classroom, lazily leafing through the contents of the pots and parchments definitely did: Cecilia felt a teacherly urge to scold this young whippersnapper for his audacity…

"…Tom…" A muffled voice called the name of the student through the door, the sound muffled by the thick wood of the door. Cecilia looked at it before staring back at the student, who had not been alerted to the call from beyond the door and continued to leaf through some more parchments that he had pulled out from the desk drawer.

"Tom!"

"Go away, I'm working!"

That seemed to work, for his name was not shouted through the door again and Cecilia watched the young wizard casually leaf through a book which he had found on the floor next to the desk.

"Aah!" The student yelled in frustration at the book after he had looked through it, throwing it violently towards the classroom door and, in its downward trajectory, using his wand cast a few balls of sparks at it, incinerating it to ash, which drifted down like tiny feathers onto the flagstones. Cecilia felt a bolt of annoyance at the destruction of knowledge and stared angrily at the student as he began to pace round the classroom seemingly at random, pulling other books from the shelf and tossing them onto the floor.

Cecilia allowed herself to drop into the memory. Above her the tendril would be able to be reached if she were to just climb onto the desk and she put to the back of her mind her previous interactions with the content of the cloudy reminiscence. Halfway down though Cecilia stopped, holding the tendril between her knees as the wizard called Tom brought over his books to the teacher's desk and threw them unceremoniously onto the thick oak top.

"…Hoffen curse… hog teeth…Holy Island leeches…" Cecilia waited, suspended above the student who was reading aloud from the book, and crinkled up her nose and eyes so she could see what was on the page. Though she couldn't read the small text that Tom was, she could however, read the title of the book that was inscribed in clear quill-pen by the author. She read it again, just to be sure.

"…Homeric Trojan beetles…Hoole's Law…hoopla charm…"

Authorised Auld Magic.

The student below her seemed oblivious to Cecilia reading the book over her shoulder and he continued to read aloud what seemed to be titles of spells within the book as he searched for something.

"…Hopkirk Bead…Hoppers…"

Both Cecilia and the student Tom seemed to notice the burn mark in the page at the same time. Cecilia bit her lip to stop her from calling out but it didn't matter because Tom cursed loudly at the sight.

"Merlin's arse!" This book was cast onto the floor in the student's rage but, unlike the hapless book earlier it was not incinerated. Instead, Tom picked it back up as it sparked a little under his hand as he thrust it onto the desk again. Flicking back to the pages he had been looking through moments before Tom ran through his list again before coming upon this section, seemingly burned through.

"Biblioinflamore," whispered Cecilia under her breath and she recalled a time when Remus had told her that it had been discovered, during the 1980s. Before this, it was always assumed such destruction had been caused wantonly.

"…I will find you…" Raising his wand aloft Tom angled it towards the bookshelf. "Accio 'horcrux'!"

For a moment, Cecilia was taken aback as she watched a shelf of books explode their contents onto the floor and a thin parchment unravel itself, zooming in the direction of the outstretched wand.

Horcrux. Someone was searching for a spell for a horcrux…

…there was only one person that could be…

"Slughorn, I knew you'd never destroy it." Cecilia tried to dip lower so she could read the A4-sized parchment that Tom (Cecilia could only assume "Riddle") had in his hand. "Now, all I have to do is – "

"Tom Riddle." Cecilia realised that she had said his name out loud. The hope that in this memory she was merely a bystander evaporated before her as the young wizard who would one day become the most terrible, feared wizard, looked at her.

"Who are you?"

Cecilia paused. Her will to tell him the truth began to turn into a reality as her name travelled up through her throat. She swallowed defensively and forced a smile.

"A new teacher to the school."

"Yes?" He continued to stare at her, Cecilia Frobisher, suspended by a tendril above him, seemingly hanging above him in the Potions' classroom. "The Headmaster never mentioned it."

"Professor Dumbledore only made the appointment today." It was here that Cecilia realised she had slipped up. As Tom Riddle frowned at her a little she repeated the name of the headmaster of Hogwarts during this student's day. She had even spoken to Professor Dippet, and he had provided her with valuable information towards her research into the Universal Link.

"You're no teacher."

"No?"

Cecilia felt herself grip the tendril a little tighter. She would need it, she was sure, to leave this memory very soon.

"You're an angel." She tried not to laugh at Tom Riddle, the student below her who had searched for one of the most potent spells known and used it in a way no wizard had done before.

"An angel?!" Cecilia repeated. "You believe me to be an – "

…Cecilia…we're here…

"Yes, an angel. I read the Auld Magic…" Tom continued to stare at her as she glanced past the young wizard, trying to work out where the words in her mind had come from.

"And that means that…"

"I never believed it." The young Riddle began to pace round Cecilia. "That if I read the Auld Magic that an angel would appear. It sounds like a story, something from "Mythology"." It certainly does, thought Cecilia. "But, there you are."

"What are you looking for in my book?" The reality that Tom Riddle was buying into seemed to be an easy mantle to wear. He glanced at her uncertainly for a moment before proceeding to leaf through the book.

"So you admit it," he continued. "You _are_ an angel." Cecilia nodded, and descended a little lower.

"What is it you want from life, Tom?" She watched as he jerked his head on hearing his name, staring at her intently.

"Power. And never to die."

"And my spell will help you, will it?"

…Cecilia…look for us…

"Of course. What I intend to do will bring me everything I desire. It will bring me immortality. It will bring me overwhelming supremacy – "

…Cecilia…

She looked over her shoulder, the words sounding as if they were coming from above her and she stared back at the grey fluffiness which encapsulated the memory but her attention was brought back to what Tom Riddle was doing in the memory which had caused the room to illuminate like a flash of lightning. Once the smoke from the epicentre of the spell had cleared Cecilia gasped in horror at the agonised, open-mouthed expression on the young student's face.

…Cecilia…find me…

As Cecilia wondered what to do next, above her another tendril dropped down and, without climbing herself she was pulled up, towards the ceiling of the Potions' classroom and the cloud above…

…above towards where she could hear the voices calling her more clearly now…

And once she was through the interface between inner memory and outer she heard her name, clear and strong over her shoulder.

…Cecilia…can you hear me…?

Tim. That was Tim's voice. She looked around her in search of her dead husband but all that was there, from the few feet before her to as far as she could see were memory-clouds, of different shapes and sizes.

"Tim?"

"We can be happy again…come here…" The voice was definitely coming from before her and, as she looked on a memory-cloud sidled into view. From its vicinity she heard Tim's voice again. "We can be happy again…"

Cecilia stepped forward, stepping onto nothing and swinging herself forward with the tendril. Tim had called her. She obviously needed to go there next. Tim needed her…so she needed Tim.

As she swung nearer to the memory she let go of the tendril and looked down, waiting to see her husband again, impeded by Death Eaters through exposure on Scafell Pike and dying consequentially from pneumonia. But, while she did see the face of Tim Frobisher again it was all too fleeting and she fell through another memory that seemed to be sandwiched to the bottom of the memory, and then another, all passing before her eyes all too quickly.

"…Cec! My best friend! It's me, Libby…"

A tendril, small but visible, peeked over the edge of a subsequent memory and Cecilia allowed herself to dwell in a memory that contained something of her murdered, pregnant friend. The voice reverberated in her mind and she saw her face but Libby could not see Cecilia, hanging onto the tendril adjacent to her, waving and calling.

Come back to us. Just let go…and we can go home…

This time her friend seemed to see Cecilia but did not speak the words. Instead they appeared in her mind as they had done before and a strong feeling in her mind told her that she must hang onto the tendril and allow these memories to pass her by.

Fight it, she told herself. These are not real! They are going to make you forget your purpose here. The tendril took her further down, heart-cripplingly fast away from her friend and she flicked through another couple of cloud-memories before slowing as she heard the name she was always called by her best friend when she was at school.

Duracell!

Others tried it, but only Libby could get away with it. Below her she saw her school, and her friend, in blazer and tie, skirt rolled up at the waist-band to half-thigh length and crimped hair. It was her old life…that was the path she could take…back at school…with her friend…before this happened…

A path she could take…one which she could choose…she could see her friends and family again…

Cecilia turned sharply and descended down. This time her rate of fall slowed dramatically and she saw the confines of the memory cloud into which she was descending. Before her, a wizard. He was unmistakably so. And, unmistakably, she was at Grimmauld Place.

She watched as the wizard looked to his right to the doorway which, Cecilia knew, led into the living room of the house. He seemed to be nursing something in his hands as he sat on a chair close to the door and looked between it and the door. As she drew closer, she realised the wizard was whispering to someone.

Not just someone. The house elf was talking back to the wizard, his tone soothing. The wizard looked back towards him before gazing down at the –

"…I have it, Kreacher…" The wizard held up what looked like a large brooch for the elf's approval and the house elf's eyes shone in wonder.

Cecilia stared. Just when she had been busy deducing that this wizard was Sirius he had, in one act, shown himself to be his brother.

"There is one more for him to find…" The light from the candles overhead reflected off the facets of the brooch and the elf looked at it hypnotically. "He will search…but he will never find it…"

Regulus Black got to his feet and held the brooch, containing what Cecilia could only deduce contained the lost horcrux, out at arm's length.

"Master?" The house-elf's expression had changed from softly cajoling to one of fear. He waited for Regulus Black to do or say something and the wizard conveniently obliged. He withdrew his wand and pointed it towards the brooch. This was it…the horcrux…it had to be destroyed. She had to get hold of it to remove it from the memory. And by the look of it she would have to act fast as Regulus was about to cast a spell upon it.

"Regulus," she whispered, hoping in this memory she could talk to Sirius's brother, perhaps persuade him to hand over the horcrux to her. "Regulus…" Cecilia whispered louder. But it seemed that neither the house elf nor the wizard had heard her.

"Bood…blood into a vial…power in the blood…do you know what this contains, Kreacher?" The terrified elf shook his head rapidly, holding onto his filthy pillowcase shoulder straps before wringing his hands anxiously.

"This horcrux contains the blood of the most wizardly wizard from the line back to the first wizard. It also contains the soul of Lord Voldermort. Oh, I so wish that my brother were here to see me do this. And now Kreacher, I am going to put it beyond his reach." Regulus raised his wand again, and the scream that Cecilia gave would surely have alerted the players in this memory if it was going to. Instead she threw herself forward, in between the spell and the brooch. Out of the wizard's hand the brooch flipped as Cecilia knocked it out of his hand, the jewellery piece clattering onto the parquet floor.

Before either the wizard or the elf could retrieve it Cecilia took the brooch, cramming it into her pocket before jumping for the ascending tendril. She just made it, and painfully dragged herself higher as Regulus Black and Kreacher searched on the floor of Number Twelve for the brooch that had just been there. Cecilia hugged the tendril gratefully as she allowed it to pull her up. For a few moments she hugged it, letting the reality of the situation rest in her mind while, at the same time she tried to work out how she should get back to the veil and into the room from which she had gone behind it.

She looked down, and saw what looked like her original rope. No tendrils now sprung from memories: clearly in some way the memories knew she had been successful in her quest. The only way to reach it then was to use the memories and hope they were dense enough to bear her as she sought the rope, and shoulders aching and burning in their sockets she trod tentatively on a passing memory-cloud.

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"Come on, Harry!" Hermione's shriek brought attention to the fact that his friends, Fred and George, and Neville and Luna, were frantically beckoning him towards the antechamber. Ducking under a few spells he ran towards them, to be greeted with arms on his biceps as they pulled him out of the way of the battle that was going on. It didn't look good. Only about half of the Order remained now and only one of the original Aurors who Umbridge had summoned to capture them. Not that there was much now for them to defend: the chamber, archway and artefacts seemed to resemble ancient Greece or Rome, with the ravages of war causing the damage on the former that the ravages of time had caused on the latter. The Death Eaters had long run out of guns and other muggle weapons but this didn't matter. On the appearance of their Lord the Death Eaters reverted to their weapons of choice – wizard wands.

Behind a large sarcophagus in the antechamber the children stood, huddled together as horrific battle raged before them.

"This is rough," commented Neville, shaking his head sadly. "I hate to say it but, we're going down."

"Sirius isn't on their side then?" asked Ron, bemused.

"No Ron," replied Hermione with uncharacteristic patience. "He just made believe to them that he was." Harry looked out onto the scene and his mind drifted to the potion. He had both the base and the mach to take and he knew that if he was to actually do any good, regardless of whether Mrs Frobisher was successful he would have to take both potions and challenge Lord Voldermort.

"Do you think Dumbledore knew about this?" Harry looked at Fred and George, the only two Order members there. At this late stage it didn't matter, surely, whether they told him.

"Yes…" nodded George.

"…and no," added Fred. Clearly they subscribed to this idea of information sharing, too.

"There were to be sacrifices…" continued George.

"…for the greater good," clarified Fred.

For the greater good…

Those were the words that he knew Remus Lupin had spoken to Sirius when he had attacked Cecilia with the CVeritaserum all those months ago and what Dumbledore had mentioned when he had discussed with him about taking the potion and what the prophecies meant. He looked the scene.

"So, in the words of Mrs Frobisher, the ministry Aurors and some of the Order are Coventry and Voldermort's Death Eaters are the Luftwaffe." Ron's comment provoked a spark Harry's memory banks and he recalled a muggle studies lesson…

…the muggle Prime Minister had known that, during the Second World War the city was a target for the Germans but, if it was warned the citizens of Coventry to evacuate an even bigger prize, interpretation of vital covert communications, would be lost. And so, probably, would the War hve been.

Coventry.

Dumbledore could have come to them sooner, Harry thought…so what was the bigger prize…he watched as Snape turned to fight another Death Eater from the dozens that had poured into the chamber, before engaging another two who had turned unexpectedly and seen their ex-compatriot.

"Harry…"

But the prize was the defeat of Voldermort. So he was the Normandy Landings.

"Harry…!" He turned to look at his friends. Their faces were filled with worry and fear and he tried to smile as best as he could in order to calm them. Then, he reached into the pocket into which he had stowed the potions, gesturing for his best friend to hold out his palm. Picking up the base, Harry knocked it straight back, trying not to gag on the foul contents. His second, the match, was altogether much more palatable and while still vile, he managed not to spray it all over his watchful friends.

"Here goes," he said, withdrawing his wand. "Wish me luck."

"We wish you…to take care," whispered Hermione, who hugged him tightly, the tears in her eyes erupting quietly as she stepped away. Fred and George gave him a hearty (and vigorous) thump on the back before Harry looked at Neville, who shook his hand.

"Go for it, Harry," he said, dropping his hand almost as soon as he had taken it. The hand in his grasp was almost immediately replaced by that of Luna, who also shook his hand and told him to watch out for the Snorkacks. Then he turned to Ron. His friend stood there, a paradigm of calmness and composure but Harry knew different. He knew if it had been Ron and he were the one saying goodbye, probably for the last time, he would have tailored his demeanour in a similar way.

"See you, Ron," he said, taking a few steps back. It was cruel, he knew, not to leave his friend with anything more intimate but he hoped that Ron would, in time, realised that he had done it to spare his feelings.

"He's done it." Ron turned to Neville who had voiced the accurately-observed scene.

"It seems so." Fred and George's unison was the only thing that echoed in the ears of the young witches and wizards and each looked out onto the scene, where Harry was approaching Snape and Sirius, who were back-to-back, fighting four Death Eaters between them.

"Shall we join them?"

Rather than reply, each of the children looked at one another before withdrawing their wands defensively and striding after Harry.

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry heard his godfather shout these words to Snape as he passed by them, seeking a bolt-hole while he crept up on Voldermort, who was engaged in violent combat with Dumbledore.

Snape said nothing: he didn't need to. He was probably the best person to know Sirius because of their hostile past. It was typical of the wizard to take his friend's side, and it was typical for him to revert to his roots. Sirius had acted on principle in an honest way like Snape would have acted through cold logic and reason.

"But you didn't know about Cecilia?" And Sirius knew him too, and how to torment him. "You loved her?" Here was the knife, metaphorically speaking.

"After a fashion," conceded Snape as he ducked a curse from one of the Death Eaters. "Appreciative love. Closeness, Sirius."

"So this is it then?"

"We have to trust in her." Snape's voice was cold and plain with no edge of comfort in it. Not that Sirius expected it, but he had hoped for a time.

"It's all my fault, Severus. I should have been down there."

"You did what you thought was right, Black – " he ducked and blocked the flash above his head, " – in the same way that you did when you brought back Petunia Evans…from your brother's clutches."

"How did you know about that?" Sirius sounded genuinely shocked as Snape revealed knowledge of a secret buried deep down and long ago.

"She went with him voluntarily…she'd known him for about six months…" Sirius's mouth fell open and he was nearly caught by a bolt from one of his Death Eaters. "She was expecting Regulus's child."

"She was what…?" A couple of bolts himself and the other of his Death Eaters were down and he risked turning his head towards Snape. The wizard's face was impassive and he looked past Sirius at the immediate threat that was facing him.

"It's not only you who makes mistakes," Sirius heard Snape say as he fended off a volley of sparks.

"Regulus was the king of making mistakes!" He exclaimed.

"I was talking about myself. It takes a special person to see where help lies, even when it is packaged in a questionable form." Knocking down his second Death Eater Sirius turned; the look on his face was one of horror. Over his shoulder Snape deflected a bolt.

"Despite your best efforts Sirius, I managed to turn my heart towards another. It was not to be…just…watch it…" he added, deflecting another as one of the Carrows saw that Sirius was undefended. "I was happy enough to offer her my friendship when she needed me and I was grateful that she returned the gesture."

"Returned the gesture?"

"At a time when I felt my will was low, and my allegiance to Dumbledore had waned." Sirius shook his head so as to consider the information Snape was giving him. A childish jelly-legs jinx surprised Amycus Carrow, leaving Sirius in a position to finish her off.

"…and I treated her so – " they wheeled around, still back-to-back, defending a corner of the room where the Weasley twins were duelling with a pair of Death Eaters.

"Like you always treat people you don't understand. I'm heartened that you recognise your failing, Black. It is from here change can spring – thanks…" He ducked as Sirius blasted a Death Eater to Snape's left.

"Petunia Evans was expecting Regulus's child…he was so much younger than her…"

"Sixteen," said Snape. "And she had come all the way to Hogwarts for her sister."

"But the child's dead though?"

"Why do you say that?"

Behind them a figure crossed across the back of the archway. Tabitha had been almost completely shielded from the battle that was now in full swing, which had given her a chance to consider a plan of action. She looked up into the eyes of her friend, who stooped down to her level and took her hand.

"Vin…"

"Tabitha…how are you…?"

"Fine." She got to her knees and he pulled out by the elbow. Around her the casualties of war lay, in various states of injury ranging from stunned to dead and there was not much to tell between them. Tabitha shook her head before looking imploringly at her friend and colleague. If anyone would understand it would be Vincento.

"Vin! Come on! We have to do something!" Her shrill shriek was winded out of her as Vincento, the Mysterious gripped her elbow and pushed her down, standing again over Tabitha.

"He needed me for the mystery," said Vincento, his voice matter-of-fact and distant. "How do you think I got them here?" Tabitha watched in horror as Vincento stood over her, his wand pointed towards her face. Then he followed her eyes. Hermione Granger was standing next to him.

"Move!" Hermione demanded. "Now." But Vincento did not move. Instead the bolt that Tabitha was to have received hit Hermione full in the chest, sending her careering backwards, hitting the stone wall of the chamber.

"Expelliarmus!" screamed Ron, pushing a Death Eater out of the way and he hurried to Hermione's side before pointing it at the Mysteriour.

"I will!"

"Do not…"

"I don't need to!" Ron's voice was one of triumph and he stabbed his wand in the direction of Harry who was now, with Dumbledore, engaging Voldermort. But Vincento didn't turn. Instead he narrowed his eyes.

"Expelliarmus! Immobilus!" Ron had the presence of mind to hit the floor as a volley of spell-fire rebounded off the wall, disarming and immobilising a Death Eater. Then Ron aimed a spell at Vincento, who was now fighting him. But it wasn't happening fast enough. Tabitha looked in the direction of the veil. She needed help.

With as much strength as she could muster Tabitha ran towards the veil. No-one understood this artefact like her. No-one was as good. As she approached, she heard a cackle behind her but Tabitha ignored it and, stooping low, caught hold of the anchor rope on which the muggle Cecilia Frobisher would ascend.

But the cackling continued and all at once Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy stood over the Mysteriour like malevolent vultures as she reached for the rope. Tabitha Penwright ignored them and instead looked past them and at the battle which was now taking place between Harry Potter and Lord Voldermort upon the field of devastation which the chamber had become.

Before either of the witches could say and do anything however a crack of green light like a flash of a camera illuminated the scene. All those who were fighting stopped and gaped at the scene.

That sounded like the Avada Kedavra curse thought Tabitha grimly as she focused her mind on the rope and the muggle who should now have been ascending up it. Behind her running feet and shrieks echoed around the now-still chamber. Instead of looking round Tabitha was fixed on the veil, willing with her extraordinary power that Cecilia Frobisher would emerge soon and she leaned further over the edge of the archway. If she had cared to have looked however Tabitha would have seen what everyone else was seeing: Voldermort standing over the body of Harry Potter.

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Cecilia was no longer climbing through the cloud-memories. She had been careful to select memories which were larger; from experience Cecilia knew they were denser because they contained more substance. By following this rule thumb she had managed to reach the rope, which automatically began to descend as she held onto it.

Down was not the way she needed to go but it didn't seem to matter because the light above her which Cecilia had presumed was the exit back to the chamber was coming towards her. She didn't care: Cecilia had what she needed, the brooch from Regulus which contained the horcrux. Nothing else mattered. She closed her eyes.

And then opened them when she realised the rope was now being hauled towards the light, which was rapidly now becoming quicker.

"Hello? What have you caught there, Perce? A stunning specimen, if I'm humbly to judge." It took a few moments for the faces of those surrounding her to sink in. She recognised them all, though never in Auror robes. The man called Perce helped her onto the dark, hard floor next to the archway and, as he did so, a voice of alarm caused Cecilia to shake, her scream muffled by the closing of her throat. The man who stood there, who had addressed the first wizard as Perce was someone she certainly did recognise.

The voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy.

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A/N: So…what do you think?


	27. Beyond the Veil

Should report this…

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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In the same way that the darkest time of day is just before dawn the coldest is just after.

In a darkened room Cecilia Frobisher opened her eyes, which didn't seem to solve the problem of not being able to see. She shivered. It was the coldness which had woken her up and she made to pull her knees up to her chest to ward off some of it.

She was imprisoned.

Well, she supposed, after flying at Lucius Malfoy with everything she had whilst surrounded by Death Eaters she was lucky not to actually be dead. She swung herself round to a sitting position and stared into the darkness. Nevertheless, she was here, manacled; the locket she had fought so desperately to retrieve taken from her. Whatever was going to happen from here on in wasn't going to be pleasant.

"We should report this," the wizard called Perce had said to Malfoy as Cecilia had stood in shock before them.

"Come on, Mr. Weasley," Malfoy had said jovially, "let the woman have her say first."

But she had made a run for it.

Malfoy jumped in front of her but it was lithe Percy who had caught her. Cecilia struggled, stamping on his foot as his grip around her arms tightened and she had shouted at him to get off as she pulled away from him, the knowledge that Molly and Arthur Weasley's third eldest son was involved with Death Eaters now firmly emblazoned in her mind.

"Hey now…she knows you!" A wizard from behind Lucius Malfoy had shouted as he had barred her way and Cecilia had felt brazen anger well up in her stomach.

"Know him? Of course I do! I know all of you! You're Dark Wizards in league with Voldermort!"

No-one replied at first; the wizards broke into laughter which faded into exchanged looks of confusion.

"What's Voldermort?" asked Percy Weasley as Cecilia looked in disbelief at the Death Eaters around them.

"There must have got down there by accident, you know, stupid pranks like this. Cornelius would have a lot of work to do repairing relations with the muggle Prime Minister." Lucius Malfoy shook his head. "So much bad publicity – "

" – but you are a Death Eater – "

"A what?!" Malfoy's laughter trickled down Cecilia's back like warm treacle.

"A Death Eater, in league with Voldermort!" Cecilia cried, her tone begging for a little compassion from someone to let go the pretence. "Voldermort! Tom Riddle!"

As she looked around at the wizards again Cecilia felt time stop. The wizards were laughing again and it didn't seem to matter that only a few months ago she had been challenging them, Lucius Malfoy included, and had just emerged back through the veil having retrieved the locket that contained the last hidden part of Voldermort.

"Percy," said Lucius Malfoy, glancing momentarily at Cecilia, "I'll leave this in your capable hands."

"Come on," continued Percy Weasley, looking carefully at Cecilia and putting a hand on her shoulder, "you're obviously feeling confused." He looked past Cecilia and at Malfoy. "I'll take her to Grimmauld Place Lucius, and – "

" – Sirius – "

Cecilia thought back to the moment she had mentioned Sirius's name. She had not intended to say it aloud, but once she had she knew she had blown it for the Order. She had failed.

"You know Sirius?"

This is the reason why, when Lucius Malfoy had asked her that question she had flown at him, throwing her hands at his chest and pushing him before raising her leg in a kick, which had caused the Death Eater to yelp, catching her hands as Cecilia tried to lash out at his face.

And that was the reason that she was now imprisoned. That wasn't what concerned her, though. What concerned her was the complete curtain of denial that had gone on. Why had they been treating her as if they didn't know her? They were Death Eaters, for heavens' sake! In her experience they were all too happy to laud their allegiance.

Cecilia closed her eyes. Whatever was happening she didn't understand it and not being able to understand it made her feel anxious and worried. In her mind's eye she thought about what was supposed to have happened when she re-emerged from behind the veil. The Order would have been there, the battle undoubtedly in full swing. The Death Eaters, those she had just met again, they would have been their combatants as they waited for Voldermort to make his theatrical appearance, as he had done in February. Then Cecilia would have given over the locket to Dumbledore or to Harry and the plan would have been complete. Why hadn't this happened? Why was she here, locked up by Death Eaters in clear denial of their allegiance?

The imaginary battle scene by the archway faded and made way for another image. It was one she had conjured in her head since meeting him almost a year ago whenever she had felt lonely or miserable. She would imagine what he would say, or what he would do. She would imagine telling him her problems and worries and imagine what he would say in return. And when she had finally got together with Remus Lupin the reality was almost exactly what she had imagined. He had comforted her. He had counselled her. He had opened up to her.

He had not opened up to her entirely, but had run away from her when it had been close to the full moon and had kept from her the true horror of the effects of a lunar eclipse. But that didn't matter to her; it had never mattered. What mattered was that Snape, wherever he was, would be able to formulate a cure for him and her Remus would never have to suffer again. What mattered was that she saw him again and talked to him.

Cecilia opened her eyes but the image of her future husband remained before her eyes. She blinked, but Remus was still there, silhouetted by the light of the open prison door.

Remus.

Was he here, standing in front of her, here to rescue her? Cecilia was about to call his name but he moved and closed the door behind him.

"Lumos".

As light illuminated the room Cecilia leaned forward, searching desperately for the physical signs that her beloved was there. A rush of adrenaline sped through her body which crashed and burned in the pit of her stomach. The wizard was not Remus Lupin. Cecilia looked down.

"Hello," said the wizard, walking towards her. "How are we feeling?" Cecilia looked up as the man sat on a chair opposite the bench which was set into the wall on which Cecilia had been sleeping. She looked up at a middle-aged man whose mild and friendly features made Cecilia feel her defensive barrier falter a little. He didn't look like the sort of wizard to be a Death Eater. An alarm bell went off in Cecilia's mind. What did the average Death Eater look like? And why was he here, talking to her whilst she was imprisoned by other Death Eaters?

"Are you feeling okay?" the man pressed. "Is there anything I can get for you? Pumpkin juice? Tea? Water?"

"And it'll be poisoned, or dosed with Veritaserum, no doubt?" replied Cecilia, taking in the man's features. Though she had never seen him before he did, on the other hand, look familiar. And sound familiar: as Cecilia listened the potential Death Eater laughed, clearly amused by her suggestion.

"Not at all, no," the man replied. "Veritaserum." He shook his head. "The last time we used Veritaserum was during the war." He frowned momentarily. "How did you know about that?"

Cecilia said nothing. The war was only about twenty years or so ago, or now if you counted the rise of Voldermort again. She looked across to the wizard. Something didn't seem right, something didn't feel right about this. If she knew Death Eaters, and she had of course come across several in the last year, she knew they didn't hang around talking quietly and placidly as this wizard was doing now.

"So," continued the man, "how was it you came to be in the Department of Mysteries and beyond the veil?"

That seemed more like it. Cecilia shook her head a little as the new direct tack taken by the man roused a feeling of discomfort in her stomach.

"I know that you know you were there," he went on. "You were shouting some preposterous things at my colleagues."

Cecilia looked down again, past her hands and to her feet. She had been imprisoned by his so-called colleagues and here he was wanting information?

"Look," the man conceded, getting to his feet. "I can do something about those." He nodded towards Cecilia's manacles. "But you have to promise you won't try to attack me." Cecilia looked up, nodding slowly.

"Engorgio manacles!" The wizard raised his wand, which he had had in his hand since the lights went on and pointed it towards Cecilia's wrists. Within seconds the metal cuffs were dragging down her hands with the weight but the holes that had bound her wrists so tightly were now bigger and she slipped her hands through them, letting the metal confines fall to the floor.

"Evanesco!" The wildly enlarged manacles disappeared. Cecilia looked across to the wizard, an expression of gratitude on her face. The man nodded his head once before taking a few steps towards her and sitting back down.

"Perhaps you could start by telling me your name?"

"You really don't know who I am?" Cecilia asked, frowning at the man. "Even though I know your…colleagues?"

"No," the man replied, shaking his head. "I really don't know who you are, and neither do they. But Lucius was rather taken aback when you attacked him. He hasn't seen non-wizard aggression since the poll tax riots."

Cecilia tried to assimilate the information the man was telling her, ignoring for simplicity his last comment.

"What year is this?"

"1997."

"And you don't know who I am?" she repeated.

"Why don't you tell me?" The man looked at her kindly and Cecilia felt her heart melt. She wanted to see Remus so badly. Remus, who was locked up in Azkaban and who seemed further away from her than ever.

"Cecilia," said Cecilia. "Cecilia Frobisher."

"Well now, Cecilia," replied the man. "My name's Kay. I work for the Ministry for Magic in non-wizard relations." Cecilia nodded mutely.

"So, how was it you ended up where you were?" Kay smiled and Cecilia felt herself smiling too.

"I don't know." It was a lie, of course it was. But it seemed much simpler and far safer than the truth at the moment. "It…all feels so hazy…it all seems so…unclear…"

"What can you remember?"

There was a pause. A long absence of sound. Cecilia looked down and around her, and then sighed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to help you," Kay replied. "A non-wizard, found by one of our mysteries. And it seems like you've got amnesia to boot. Where does your family live? Is there anyone I can contact?"

As Kay spoke, images of the cottage that she and Remus shared, of an evening together with the windows open and a light breeze tickling the net curtains appeared in her mind. Her Remus, who was imprisoned in Azkaban. Her sister Amy then arose, holding the hands of her mother on one side and Freya on the other. Then, an image of her best friend flooded her mind, her darling friend Libby with whom she had shared everything. Murdered by Death Eaters. Cecilia looked across sharply to Kay as the paradoxical situation of the wizard denying he was a Death Eater and at the same time associating himself with Lucius Malfot and she dived towards the wizard, making for his left arm. Kay swerved and she fell forward, tearing the sleeve of his robe.

As she fell backwards onto the flagstones his arm was exposed to the light and Cecilia gasped in horror. The wizard's arm was entirely absent of the Dark Mark. Kay was not a Death Eater.

Leaning back on her hands Cecilia pulled herself into a cross-legged sitting position, rested her elbows and her head on her hands. Thoughts, ones which seemed so clear moments ago seemed to be evading her a little as she chased them through her mind. Thoughts of Remus, and the Order. Thoughts of "Mysterious Mythology" and the morning of the first day when she had crept down the stairs and overheard Sirius scoffing at her involvement with wizards.

Cecilia didn't know how long she sat on the cold floor of the prison cell as she pursued memories around her mind. It was only when she could not think any more about the situation that her self-pity was replaced with determination, determination to find out what on earth was going on and, most importantly, get herself out of there and back to the Order.

She looked up, blinking into the light. Kay, from his seat opposite the hard bunk smiled gently, acknowledging her alertness. Cecilia stared back at the wizard and smiled too. And there was something in the smiles between them that made Cecilia think about the time that she had trusted Remus with the information about the genetics that she was investigating with the help of Nick Smith all those months before and a surge of trustfulness began to grow in her stomach. Something was telling her that she could trust this man.

"I was behind the veil for an important purpose," Cecilia heard herself saying. "But for the life of me I can't remember why." She smiled again, waiting for the wizard to reply. "I…had a locket…but I don't seem to have it any more…" She tried to move, but her legs were stiff. Just as she leaned forward Kay extended a hand. Cecilia took it and pushed herself up.

"I'll look into it," Kay replied, looking her up and down. "I apologise for your imprisonment, you did attack a senior Auror though and it is procedure to imprison." He raised his wand and pointed it towards the door of the cell. "That, and the fact you came out from behind the veil when it is a classified artefact. Now – "

The noise outside the cell made both Cecilia and Kay look in the direction of the door. Instead of finishing his sentence the wizard paced towards the brightness, holding onto its bars.

"What've you got, Perce?" Kay leaned nonchalantly against the frame of the cell door, glancing back at Cecilia who was sitting back on the bunk and staring at the floor. "Who is she?"

"She should be a member of a fundamentalist non-wizard organisation," replied Percy Weasley. "She should have been someone known to the Ministry who dared to bribe and deceive an Auror in order to break in here in order to achieve some foul deed in order to highlight the plight of non-wizards in an increasingly multicultural society." Percy stared at Kay and shook his head. "She should, at any rate, exist."

"She doesn't exist?" Kay returned Percy's stare with one of his own. "Surely that can't be possible?"

"It shouldn't be possible. We've had our best men working on it for the best part of the morning. It's nearly midday and there's no trace of a Cecilia Frobisher anywhere, or any evidence of anything physical from the occlumency."

"Well, you were thorough," replied Kay, glancing back to Cecilia again. "She was asleep for almost twenty four hours. Listen, do you think it might be something to do with the veil, the reason why we can't find anything?" He watched Percy Weasley sag at the shoulders.

"I was just about to ask you the same question," he sighed. "I just don't know, and neither does Gregor. As far as he has anything to do with it only a handful of people know that the veil even exists. The only thing we've got to go on was that she said she knew Sirius Black."

Kay turned and looked back at Cecilia, still bent over her knees and staring at the floor before smiling a little at Percy who was turning something over and over his hands before giving it to Kay. The wizard nodded.

"Perhaps that's our starting point."

A few moments later Kay walked back into the cell, pausing next to Cecilia until she lifted her head.

"I have to get back to work," Kay began. "You are free to go to wherever you want to go. Before you decide," he continued as Cecilia sprang to her feet, obvious rejuvenation in her action, "Percy has a proposition for you. Now, I don't think he'd be volunteering to take a non-wizard to Grimmauld Place but you did say you knew Sirius Black. And your correspondence here mentions the address, even though it is a year out of date."

He handed her the letter which had been taken from her after she had been stunned whilst attacking Lucius Malfoy. Cecilia looked at it and felt a lump in her throat as she opened and read through the letter.

"Grimmauld Place." Her words were not a question, just a statement as she read the address on the back.

"You know where that is." Cecilia nodded.

"Do you know a wizard by the name of Sirius Black?" Cecilia nodded again, then wrinkled her brow as she wondered how he knew.

"Percy said that you did when you came from Beyond." Kay glanced in the direction of the prison cell door, watching the figure that was waiting there.

"Yes," Cecilia replied. "I do know Sirius Black."

"And you have your letter for an interview with Dumbledore." The wizard looked back to Cecilia and smiled. "I think that pretty much swung it, to be honest," he added, getting to his feet. "Even though you can't remember how in heavens name you ended up down there – " he shuddered, making Cecilia feel a chill in the warm room, " – doesn't bear thinking about."

Cecilia looked at him and said nothing. Nothing seemed to make any sense at all at the moment, nothing seemed right.

"Come on," he said, looking towards the door. Cecilia's eyes darted towards it too and the figure standing there. Was it a Death Eater come to take her away? Very probably. Perhaps Kay's demeanour belied his true intent.

"I'll leave the door open and you can go with Percy when you're ready," said Kay when he realised that Cecilia wasn't about to follow him and he tapped her comfortingly on the shoulder. There was something familiar in the gesture which made Cecilia instinctively respond by getting to her feet.

"So…you're not spies?" Cecilia asked as they stepped into the green stone corridor, noting the presence of Percy Weasley standing by the doorway. "The Order of the Phoenix is not at war with Voldermort and the Death Eaters?" She frowned as a feeling of hurtfulness passed through her. Both wizards were chuckling.

"No," replied Kay in a voice Cecilia would otherwise have reserved for a naïve child.

"Don't be silly," added Percy Weasley, a grin on his face making his austere features transform into those of his twin brothers. "Kay, this muggle thinks there's some sort of war on?" Cecilia was about to reply when she saw the expression on Kay's face.

"Muggle?" chided Kay. "That's not politically correct, Perce. Less able."

"Yes Perce," said another man who had sidled up to the tall, red-headed wizard and gave him a grin. "I'm less able."

"Dave Mullen!" exclaimed Kay but the man called Dave Mullen continued, looking at Cecilia.

"You mentioned a wizard called Tom Riddle?" Cecilia paused, trying to remember what she had said when she had seen Lucius Malfoy face to face. And then she remembered where she had seen the thin-faced wizard before: he had been there when she had come out from behind the veil.

"Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Voldermort," Cecilia nodded. Dave Mullen smiled, turning to the wizards on either side of Cecilia.

"I know a Tom Riddle. So do you, Perce. Old Tom." Percy Weasley's expression of incomprehension dissolved away and was replaced by one of realisation.

"Old Tom!" exclaimed Kay, rolling his eyes.

"Is his name Tom Riddle?" asked Percy. Dave nodded, glancing at Cecilia.

"He works in non-wizard relations, with me," added Dave, addressing Cecilia now. "Ah, his stories…"

"…like the one about being the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin," continued Percy.

"I'll bet that what you've been saying'll go down a hoot back in the office, young lady." Dave turned and looked at Kay. "Are you ready?" Cecilia watched as Kay nodded and both of them began to walk down the long dark corridor, raising their hands in a wave to Percy Weasley.

Cecilia turned to him, her shoulders sagging as all that she had been through flashed before her.

"What now?"

"Now?" Percy smiled. "You're free to go. But it's Ministry policy not to just let you out onto the street. I'll take you somewhere familiar."

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For the second time in as many days she was standing on the doorstep of twelve Grimmauld place. They floo'd to the phone box at the end of the street and despite Cecilia's knotted stomach she found it surprisingly easy. Percy Weasley continued to act as he had always done: treating her with mild disdain and with professionalism. There was nothing warm or comforting.

Checking to see if she could make it down the street Percy allowed Cecilia to support herself on his arm as she regained her strength and he remained quiet until she straightened up and made a few steps in the direction of Number Twelve and Cecilia glanced around her in the midday sunlight, taking in the information around her. The street seemed to be much lighter and less foreboding than on the occasions she had seen it before. It was as if someone had taken Grimmauld Place and given it a thorough wash, cleaning the ingrained dullness out of the fabric of the scene.

"I have to say, I've never seen a braver muggle," Percy said, following her slowly. "You may yet feel some after effects," he added, pausing by Cecilia's side before the steps of the house, not hidden as it had been between the houses adjacent but sitting boldly between numbers ten and fourteen.

"Caelius was right, you aren't crazy, just confused." He patted her shoulder as Cecilia's mouth fell open.

Caelius?

"Mum will sort you out," he added smiling a little at Cecilia. And then, just as Cecilia turned to question him Percy Weasley nodded towards her before disapparating with a loud crack.

She was alone. Standing on the doorstep of Twelve, Grimmauld place.

Alone.

Well, there was nothing else for it. Cecilia pulled up the metal gargoyle-shaped on the thick front door holding it away from the metal plate and knocked.

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A/N: Short, but hopefully sweet.


	28. Strangeley Familiar

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

A/N: Please review!

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Cecilia waited. The gargoyle on the knocker stared back at her inorganically as she waited for someone to answer, like the last time she was standing outside Sirius's home. Like the last time Cecilia was desperate to locate someone inside who knew her and to whom she could speak. Unlike the last time Number Twelve was obsequiously on display, standing boldly between numbers Ten and Fourteen. She looked around.

The day was rapidly coming towards noon: a beautiful June day with a high sun and blue sky which ordinarily she would have relished. In the centre of the square of which Grimmauld Place made up one of the four sides she watched the people who had chosen that moment to be minding their own business in a small park through which a few paved paths meandered and flower beds proudly displayed their rainbow hues. There was a woman walking her small terrier which wanted to dash off much more quickly than its owner did, resulting in the woman straining her arm at the shoulder in her determination to keep it under control. Behind them a mother was leading a couple of boisterous and playful children firmly by the hand towards the green's gated exit, much to the obvious indignation of her offspring.

But Cecilia's mind was not really on the people; as she watched them go about their business before her they had become something akin to animated scenery as her brain continued to work on the incorporation of all of the facts with which she was faced.

Percy Weasley. Clearly he worked for the Ministry now, and although she had not met him to speak to (having been running or being disapparated in response to his eagerness to find her) he seemed to be completely unaware of the existence of Death Eaters and so, for that matter, did everyone else. Moreover, Lucius Malfoy, someone who you could not mistake for another person, had been working with him, which was never very surprising, but there was one thing she couldn't ignore: he denied being a Death Eater. Lucius Malfoy would never deny something like that.

Then there was Kay or, as Percy had just referred to him, Caelius. Now she came to think about him and the conversation they had had he did remind her of Remus. Was it possible that he was Remus's brother, the one killed at a young age by a werewolf? It could just be a coincidence but then…he had looked so like her beloved.

In her pocket was the letter that Kay…Caelius…had returned to her. At first glance it seemed to be exactly the same as the one she had had on 15th July a year before. And here she was standing on the very spot where she had been then too.

But it couldn't have been. Cecilia shook her head in denial as logic failed and confusion reigned. Things were not the same as they had been then: the outer presentation of this whole scene was the same but the people were different. She felt her chest tighten as the brief thought of Remus caused her heart to beat faster and she held tightly onto her letter of employment as his face appeared in her mind's eye.

But she mustn't think about him. Thinking and reflecting about appearing back from beyond the veil. She didn't know why everything was so bizarre but Percy had brought her to see his mother who was, logically, here. And so was Dumbledore, because she had the letter. Whatever was going on she was determined to find out.

Time passed as the park before her continued its steady march from the past into the future. She knew this place so well and behind this door would be answers for the ever-spawning questions in her mind. She tried to block them out and focus on only what the senses told her, that she had been brought to Grimmauld Place by people from the Ministry who claimed no knowledge of Voldermort, Death Eaters or the Order.

Her collection of sensual information proved to calm her mind as she looked around at the tree-lined road behind her while Einstein's theory of relativity came into play. Logically only a minute or so should go by between someone knocking on the door of a house and someone coming to answer it but the delay seemed to Cecilia like aeons. She watched again the woman with her dog head to the opposite corner of the park, its initial energetic exuberance replaced with flagging fatigue as the woman walked briskly, presumably towards home.

And then a noise behind her brought Cecilia out of her thoughts as she heard the door of the house behind her open rather than saw it. It was the sound of the latch opening rather than the door swinging open which made her turn round to face the answers to her questions but the information immediately provided to Cecilia's senses evaporated like rainwater in the sun.

In front of her stood Remus Lupin.

Were this a film and such sensual reinforcement was necessary sentimental music would have started and the view around her would have melted into a fuzzy-edged visage.

This was not, however, a film: the music didn't filter through the trees, the soft focus image didn't crystallise in her mind. A couple of birds twittered in the trees above her but that was probably just coincidence. Cecilia stood opposite her fiancé, someone she was convinced was, if not dead, imprisoned.

A brief moment passed as her hindbrain kicked Cecilia's cerebellum sharply and before the man in front of her could say anything she had thrown herself at him, kissing him firmly on the lips and holding him close.

"Remus!" Cecilia ran up the steps and flung her arms around him, kissing him hard on the lips before burying her head close this chest in an all-enveloping embrace and sighing into his chest. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

After everything that had gone on: her flight from the cottage and her hiding at the Dursley's; her discovery there and her expedition to find Sirius only to hear that Remus had been taken to Azkaban and then her plan, conceived in Sirius's father's study, carried out in the Department of Mysteries…

…after everything…he was here…everything would be all right now…everything would make sense! She was here, safe with her Remus and everything, sooner or later would be okay. All would be well.

But instead of feeling him return her gesture, feel him hold her tighter and whisper loving, comforting things to her Cecilia instead found herself being pushed back towards the door with Remus staring at her as if she were mad. He continued to stare at her, his face revealing his lack of acquaintance and as he did so Cecilia felt the words in her throat compelling him to remember her transform into a bubble of tension in her stomach. Why had he done that? How could he not know her?

"Guess you've pulled then Moony!" From behind Remus a second familiar figure stepped out causing Cecilia to tremble. The last time she had seen Sirius Black had been when she had descended over the edge of the Veil, his shadowy image growing fainter and fainter as she retreated. He looked at Cecilia and grinned widely.

"Before you tell us your name can I have one too?"

It was no use Cecilia trying to vocalise her feelings. The bubble burst and she hung her head, tears stuttering to the surface.

"Look now Padfoot, you've upset her." Remus turned his head towards his friend and shook it reprovingly before taking a few cautious steps towards Cecilia ignoring the "what have I done" expression on Sirius's face. "Come on in," he added, taking from her the letter in her hand as he led her slowly towards the door to the living room.

Cecilia didn't resist: she didn't have the energy. All of the confusion which she thought would so easily be solved by her turning up at Grimmauld Place had been shattered over the course of ten heartbreaking seconds and she felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She wiped her face on the back of her hand as she nodded to one of the purple settees which Remus was gesturing.

"It says here you are to speak to Dumbledore." Sirius scrutinised the letter then looked her up and down as she lowered herself onto the settee. "Let me sort this out: I'll leave her in your capable hands Moony, as you are now so well acquainted."

"Sorry if I embarrassed you," said Cecilia as Remus perched himself on the arm of the settee.

"You didn't," Remus replied before a look of horror passed over his face. "Er, what I meant to say was – " he scrambled to his feet, " – I'll just go and see if Padfoot wants a hand. Here." He handed her a handkerchief, a beautifully laundered cotton one with a blue stripe around it and turned. She watched him pause before exiting through the door that Mr Weasley had gone through all those months before when Remus had given her "Mysterious Mythology."

The door clicked shut and the humour of the situation declined as Cecilia sat alone in a place she knew well, holding the handkerchief, something which a part of her was telling her not to use for it had been her Remus who had given it to her.

Not quite as she remembered, Cecilia told herself. There seemed to be a lighter atmosphere to the place, it not as grim an old place as the street name suggested now. Light curtains were at the window and the floorboards had been revealed from underneath the old worn carpet.

And then, the kitchen door opened. Mrs Weasley, thought Cecilia as Percy's intention of taking her to where his mother would be dazzled in her mind. But instead of the warm, smiling features of Molly Weasley beaming her way out of the kitchen and offering her tea and sandwiches out bowled a small boy of about three or four dashing his way across the carpet. Cecilia followed his course as he noticed her, opening her mouth to say something as he launched himself onto her lap.

"Hello, I'm Sam," said the boy matter-of-factly, sitting upright and looking at her curiously. "You look sad. Why are you sad Lady?" Cecilia looked up sharply; the last time anyone had finished asking her a question with the word "Lady" at the end was the last time she had seen Dobby, almost four months before. But before she could reply the kitchen door open again and a man strode over to them.

"Sam!" he exclaimed, looking both scolding and apologetic as he looked between her and the boy. "What have I told you? Don't jump on people, particularly strangers." Cecilia looked up into a familiar face as the man took Sam from her lap. Familiar but older. Harry was much older than she remembered. And something was different. He had no scar and his eyes were hazel brown. She bit her lip so as not to say anything.

"Sorry, Daddy," exclaimed Sam. "But she was crying. Quick, use your wand and get rid of her tears."

"I think she has all she needs for that," commented the imperfect copy of Harry as he lifted the boy high into the air, nodding towards the handkerchief. "Excuse my son, Madam, he's always doing this. Aren't you?" He added, pinching the little boy's cheek. Sam laughed and chuckled as his father grinned at him.

"It's perfectly fine. I'm used to older children though," she added, smiling at the boy. "They tend not to jump all over you.

"No indeed," said a woman, stepping out from behind the man. She had bushy auburn hair and Cecilia could see where Sam's looks had come from. The boy was not a redhead but strawberry blonde with green eyes. He grinned at his mother as the man passed him over to her. And then it struck Cecilia.

"Do you have an older son?" The question escaped her lips without bothering to seek the consent of her brain. As soon as she had said it she detected the coldness descend momentarily as the two people looking uncannily like Mr and Mrs Potter exchanged wary glances.

"A teacher can tell these things," she added, hoping this would be enough. The man who was possibly James Potter narrowed his eyes before handing Sam over to his mother.

"What's your name my dear?" asked Lily Potter, a friendly smile on her face.

"Cecilia. Frobisher."

"…Frobisher…like the famous mountaineer…What's his name, James…?"

"…Tim Frobisher…" mused the man. Tim Frobisher, echoed Cecilia in her mind. My hus –

"Dumbledore said he'd employed a teacher," continued the man that the woman had just addressed as James. "A muggle teacher, yes? A teacher of muggle students? And a muggle yourself?"

"It's less able, darling," interjected in-all-likelihood Lily Potter. Cecilia sighed and nodded. Somehow "less able" sounded more insulting than "muggle" but just at the moment it was best to concede defeat to this strange familiar for the moment while she worked out just what on earth was going on.

"Mummy, mummy….wow, she's a muggle…?" Sam wriggled out of his mother's arms and toddled over to Cecilia.

"Hello, I'm Sam Potter." He extended a hand, Cecilia didn't dare look at his parents but she had the distinct feeling that they were grinning. "My brother's at school. He likes quidditch. Do you like quidditch?"

"She might not have heard of quidditch, Sam dear," replied the woman correctively. "And you know better than to use the M word," she scolded, turning towards James and frowning as much as to convey her silent reproach.

"Sirius has my letter, I think," confirmed Cecilia. "I think he's gone to see Dumbledore." She looked between two blank faces, pausing at the third one, in the muddle, which was full of blissful mirth. "My employment letter?"

"Ah yes, Dumbledore's been waiting here for the last two days for someone."

"It must be you," said the woman, hoisting Sam onto her hip and turning towards the kitchen. Would you like something to drink?"

"Mrs Frobisher will have tea. With no milk, Lily." Dumbledore's voice was light and regular, and Cecilia turned round to look at him. The beard was right; there was no mistaking that, so were the half-moon spectacles and the dark maroon robes adorned with mystical sigils. But something didn't seem right. Something in his stance, his demeanour. How he knew how she wanted her tea was the least of her questions though. She watched as Lily wave her hand over the table beside the purple settee and, picking up the mug, she handed it to her.

"I can well understand that you have several questions about your employment, Mrs Frobisher. If you would like to bring your hot beverage with you and follow me?"

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"And that is the last thing you remember?"

He waited for Cecilia to nod before nodding himself. Apart from the intimate details between herself and Remus Lupin, Cecilia had recounted all she could remember to Dumbledore, everything from the first moment she had arrived at Grimmauld Place and Severus Snape had opened the door up to her second arrival an hour ago. Remus and Sirius had come to fetch Cecilia not long after they had left, both seemed intrigued by her presence and Sirius had shown her to the room which she remembered from her first meeting with him, almost a year ago.

Her tea had long since gone cold on several occasions and despite Dumbledore's effort at warming it up every so often it remained untasted.

"I see, I see. Hmm." Dumbledore got to his feet and began to pace.

"You recall my interview with you, I presume?" Cecilia nodded.

"But that was almost a year ago," she added. Dumbledore stopped pacing suddenly and looked at her over his spectacles momentarily before resuming his steady gait.

"I have to say Remus Lupin was more than a little surprised at your greeting considering that from his point of view he has never met you until this lunchtime. But, of course, from yours you have been engaged…lived together…been brought together…estranged…thrown together in the face of extraordinary circumstances." Cecilia nodded. That did succinctly put her own past history together and, of course, her current situation.

"So you believe me," Cecilia concluded aloud, gazing in wonder at the imperfect copy of Dumbledore in front of her.

"Of course," he replied. "You have the letter, something which you confirm was exactly the same as the one you had a year ago." He looked at her, waiting for her to respond and Cecilia nodded.

"Then it's an intransmutable object. Whatever happened to you beyond the veil the fact that this has not changed is important. They are very rare, and it is something I am sure Tabitha Penwright would be most interested in."

Cecilia said nothing. She thought Dumbledore would be able to help her, reveal succinctly and efficiently the solution to the riddle and put her mind at rest. That all would be united in one simple explanation and she could go back to living her life with Remus and all would be well. She blinked and Dumbledore smiled.

"I am compelled to believe you wholeheartedly about everything Mrs Frobisher because of the very fact that it exists. You claim to have had this letter since your first arrival at this address?" Cecilia nodded. "No date has been changed? Nothing altered?" This time she shook her head.

"There!" Dumbledore punched the air uncharacteristically as he grinned widely. "Precisely! Pre-cisely!" You would not have been able to see Number Twelve without this letter and had it been the first time you had arrived the building would have materialised from between our neighbours at Fourteen and Ten."

Cecilia shook her head. From what he was saying Dumbledore sounded like he was talking about –

"Forgive me to quote science Mrs Frobisher, a subject with which I am least familiar, the veil is a little like those experiments you get where electrons do not pass through something when you are looking at them, but do when you're not. Observer influence. You were bound to find what you were looking for eventually because you were down there interacting with it."

That made sense. She had found memories linked to her and yet the only place they had been was inside her mind.

"Yes, you made it so," nodded Dumbledore, pausing next to the Adam-style style fireplace and looking at her keenly. "From what you say you destroyed the object and so this…Lord Voldermort…never came into being." He made his way back to the seat in which he had sat, a green, wing-backed chair identical to the one that Cecilia was also sitting in, and leaned back into it.

"Muggles you know," Dumbledore continued. "We wizards used to all think the world was so different when actually there's not much difference between us you know, just a few random - well, our man'll be able to tell us that eventually, today hopefully." He stopped and silence reigned. Why didn't this make sense? The only course of logic was that valid was that…

…but that wasn't…

"Professor Dumbledore. Please can you help me?" Cecilia shook her head as if disperse her thoughts like a snowstorm globe. "I am so confused about all of this, really I am. As far as I'm concerned those people I met in the living room died sixteen years ago. They left their son with Mrs Potter's sister. Can all that have happened have happened and this, this here and now, still be true?" Dumbledore paused and looked at her.

"I don't know, Mrs Frobisher. But what I do know is – "

But whatever it was Dumbledore knew Cecilia wouldn't know just then. A knock on the door had caused him to break off and she followed his course as Dumbledore opened the door.

"A cup of tea and a sandwich, Aberforth?" Sirius looked past Dumbledore and stared at Cecilia, a smirk of gleeful curiosity on his face. Cecilia felt herself blush as Dumbledore held onto the door handle.

"Not just at the moment Sirius, we are finalising our discussion." It took another couple of seconds before Sirius was finally dissuaded but his pushy nosiness was nothing compared to what she had just heard him say.

"You thought my name was Albus, didn't you?" continued Aberforth Dumbledore, as if reading her mind as he made his way from the now closed door to the chair in which Cecilia was sitting. In the matching one opposite Dumbledore sat down and Cecilia could see behind the beard that it was of course not Albus Dumbledore to whom she had been speaking. She felt herself nodding and Aberforth nodded concludingly.

"I thought as much. I was almost convinced by the wild and exciting tale you told me Mrs Frobisher but it was when you addressed me as "Professor" that I knew. I knew Albus must have had a hand in it somewhere."

"You're not Albus Dumbledore? Then I won't waste any more of your time." Hotly Cecilia got to her feet, tears springing to her eyes as the conflicting information finally reached her senses. This wasn't her world. It wasn't what she remembered. She remembered happiness with Remus in his cottage. She remembered the joy of teaching she had had years before. She would find her way back to the blasted veil and go back behind it again. At least she could live amongst the memories of what she knew.

Aberforth did and said nothing. He remained in the chair opposite Cecilia as she bowed her head and turned towards the door. Halfway there she paused turning her tear-coursed face back round to the wizard.

"Before I go, there's just one question, Dumbledore. What is the name of the school you run and why are you and James and Lily Potter and Remus Lupin living in Sirius Black's house?"

"That's technically two questions, but nevertheless." Aberforth rose and, with an open palm gestured towards the chair that Cecilia had been sitting in. When she did not move he continued.

"I run a school that is based in Northumbria, for wizarding and, for the first time this year, non-wizarding children. And we are here at the moment because of the discovery of one of our friends, a researcher from the Ministry for Magic. It is hoped that after all these years he and his research partner have discovered what connects wizards and non-wizards. In fact, my admissions policy depends on it." Cecilia felt her feet root to the spot.

"The Universal Link," she heard herself saying. "That's the connection. I discovered it, though not without help. Energy, light and magic."

"Indeed," replied Aberforth Dumbledore, nodding. "Now if you'll just sit down I'll suggest to you why everything seems so confusing."

Cecilia made her way back heavily and slowly towards the chair to which Aberforth was again gesturing. Her legs felt like lead as the weight of knowledge hung inside her, pulling her down towards the ground. Once near to the chair she allowed herself to fall weightily into it, knowing that she had only the strength to listen now. Aberforth waited until she raised her head to look at him before continuing.

"You know of my brother Albus Dumbledore. He is the headmaster of a prestigious school based in Eastern Europe. Durmstrang. Long has he fought for wizard-non-wizard integration and finally the European Council of Wizards granted him permission to investigate his theories into a connection." Cecilia watched Aberforth settle back in his chair and she leaned forward, watching his slightly-less-than-silver-than-Albus Dumbledore beard as he spoke.

"He had, from the very beginning, admitted both magical and non-magical students, a move which was at best controversial. He made connection with a researcher from the Department of Mysteries, a wizard with unique powers, unique enough to investigate what he had been proposing. She and a pupil from my own school have worked shoulder to shoulder to bring this together. And now it has been accepted that non-wizards and wizards should not be apart."

"The Universal Link," whispered Cecilia under her breath. Of course. "Severus Snape." Aberforth nodded. "Now I can emulate my brother's example by employing a non-wizard at Hedgewards School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you."

Cecilia looked at Aberforth sharply. What he was proposing was not novel to her, of course. She had spent five months as a teacher at Hogwarts albeit in the disguise of a squib but the expression upon Dumbledore's face clearly expected her to be in awe at his suggestion, or at least have it register.

"But there was a specific reason for asking you," he continued when he realised, perhaps, that she wasn't going to be visibly surprised. "Non-wizard torment has begun to increase amongst some of the young wizard population resulting in the death of several non-wizards." In the grate, Aberforth pointed his wand. The dull hearth sprang to life and green flames formed themselves into a shape.

"I don't see…" began Cecilia but Aberforth Dumbledore continued to hold his wand aloft. The smudged edges started to solidify and she blinked as the image in front of her became clear. This time her mouth did fall open in awe and surprise.

Freya!

Cecilia looked between the little girl, her god-daughter, sitting on a bed and Aberforth Dumbledore. In front of her a large book which she was leafing through slowly. Could it be…Mysterious Mythology…?

"She liked the book so I let her keep reading it." Aberforth leaned towards the greenish image of the girl as he continued to hold his wand aloft. "She is in the care of Sirius's cousin at the moment but we'd like her to be with someone she can identify with. She is a non-wizard child whose parents were victims of unfortunate accidents whilst in the employ of the ministry. She isn't quite old enough to go to Hedgewards yet and you do not have to take her on, however the ministry is willing to pay for the support." Aberforth paused, watching Cecilia as continued to stare, frozen, at the vision of the child. "Her name's Freya Mitchell," Aberforth added. "I'm just asking you to think about it…

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore. This is very difficult to take in. Can I ask – " Cecilia broke eye contact with picture of her god-daughter and looked around her, at the bookshelves as the books were in the process of re-ordering themselves, just as they had done when she had been in there with Albus Dumbledore almost a year before.

"Where are you staying, Mrs Frobisher?" Dumbledore's change of topic made Cecilia start and she turned to look at him.

"Well, my address is 26, Dalton Drive, Edgeford…" She tailed off as Aberforth Dumbledore shook his head.

"I am sorry to have to tell you that that house burned down years ago. I suggest Mrs Frobisher, I fear you are suffering form long term memory loss brought about form where you were discovered. I recommend you base yourself here, until you remember correctly." Aberforth began to step back from the fireplace before starting to pace before it in the way that Cecilia had seen so many times before.

"Your mother and sister…and husband…" Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "You are a single woman, as you told me in your interview. You have no family and your husband died of pneumonia, though I suspect it was actually foul play." Cecilia opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it again. She folded her arms and shook her head.

"I…I just don't understand why you are happy enough to accept what I'm saying." She bit her lip as her mind fought with her mouth for supremacy. "You happily sit there and take in my side of the story and yet you carry on as if nothing has happened." Aberforth Dumbledore stopped pacing suddenly and looked at her before walking slowly back towards his chair and sitting back down in it. He waited for Cecilia to do the same before continuing.

"You honestly think both cannot have happened? I thought you were the non-wizard scientist I spoke to last week." Cecilia shook her head.

"You must have been mistaken," replied Cecilia softly. "A man called Albus Dumbledore, calling himself Mr. White interviewed me over a year ago. I know that I have never spoken to you." This time it was Aberforth's turn to shake his head.

"Well, perhaps Severus will be able to work it all out for us. He's due here imminently with Miss Penwright."

"Of course," replied Cecilia dully. "The Universal Link." Then her mind thought, "Severus". She would be able to see Severus again.

"The connection which you claim to have had a hand in yourself." He winked and smiled as Cecilia frowned. "Can not two realities be real, Cecilia? Can not you have changed one and slipped into another? It is one thing to have got behind the veil without anyone noticing but to have done what you said? Times have changed. Or rather, time is changed, but you are still in it."

Cecilia got to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. The image that had been there of Freya had been real enough. As had the letter of employment, it was something unchanged where almost everything else had. Changing time? It sounded to her like a bad episode of Star Trek.

"If you want further proof then there's the locket. The one which you claim to have relieved Regulus Black of when you were behind the veil." Cecilia turned round and stared open-mouthed at the object that Aberforth was holding aloft.

"Here, merely a trinket which Sirius has had passed down in the family. No evil talisman at all. Had it not been for the sharing of information between non-magic people and us it might well have been. We wizards would never have survived into the twentieth century and there would never have been such a diverse range and understanding between each other had it not been for, dare I say it without being politically incorrect, muggles." Aberforth got to his feet and walked over to Cecilia putting a comforting arm over her shoulders.

"Personally if it hadn't my sister might have died, I might have ended up as a barman and my brother Albus would probably have become the headmaster of an exclusive wizard school instead of running off and living with a German wizard in a Swiss forest. You never can tell. Now." He took a few steps back from Cecilia, who smiled, defeated, at Aberforth's upbeat conclusion. "You will be working with Severus Snape and – "

But whatever he was about to say Cecilia didn't get to find out: at that moment the door opened on cue and the person behind it who had failed to knock strode in.

" – here he is!" Aberforth got to his feet and to the man who had entered and stood before him he held out a steady hand.

The man was not altogether different to the image in her mind's eye. But there were some differences too distinct to ignore and had Dumbledore not introduced the man standing before her as Snape she may well have thought he was someone else. The agonies that had taken their toll through years of relentless self-discipline and heart-wrenching sacrifice had been replaced with echoes of a time when he had collected her for the Yule Ball from her room at Hogwarts. It was only when Dumbledore cleared his throat that Cecilia realised she was gaping. At his left arm.

"You like my tattoo?" His voice was low and gravelly, his eyes still sharp and critical. She nodded.

"This is Cecilia Frobisher." Cecilia held out a hand. Snape paused and for a moment Cecilia thought he wasn't going to take it but, after a few brief seconds he took it and folded it firmly in his.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Cecilia began, smiling at Snape. Instead of returning her smile however Snape withdrew his hand and looked at Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Barring a few details," he confirmed, nodding at Cecilia.

"She understands about the Link?" Snape asked doubtfully, arching his eyebrows. A pang of indignation flared up in Cecilia and she sought in vain for a suitable rebuke.

"Of course. Mrs Frobisher is a truly gifted scientist."

"And she is to work under me?" he added. Cecilia opened her mouth but Aberforth voiced words of diplomacy.

"To work with you, Severus. I am in the process of ironing out the details."

"Then I shall leave you to it," Snape replied, a tone of voice that Cecilia knew only too well. "I shall see you later, Mrs Frobisher?"

"You will, Mr. Snape," she replied graciously, the urge to bite at his arrogant manner ebbing away. When the door closed on a swiftly retreating Snape Aberforth Dumbledore turned to look at Cecilia.

"Severus believes he has a way of preserving the energy…barking mad in my opinion...but genius manifests itself in many ways…" Aberforth looked at the door in the wake of Snape's departure. "Muggles, you know, don't know how to save a drop...no offence meant…we need a muggle to help us develop it…and wizard muggle relations would be improved no end."

Cecilia felt herself sigh. Somehow, deep down through all of this she knew that she was in the right place, like the last piece of jigsaw somehow, waiting for her protruding ends to join flawlessly with the pieces around her. No amount of denial would bring her to another conclusion and besides, her house was no more.

"May I have some time to think about it?" Cecilia asked, smiling politely. Aberforth nodded.

"Of course. Take your time and think about everything we've discussed. It's a lot to take on after everything you've done, Mrs Frobisher but the decision is still yours. What I need to know is if you are the right man for the job."

Cecilia got to her feet and looked at Aberforth. Was she the right man for the job? Could she give them what they wanted and still keep her sanity? She knew everyone here one way or another and at the end of it, it was her project.

"I am," she nodded.

"Are you in search of wild adventure, excitement and mystery?"

"No, I am in search of the quiet life."

"The quiet life...then you are indeed the right man for the job."

88888888

Aberforth Dumbledore pushed open door that led from the corridor on the ground floor adjacent his office to the living room, holding it open for Cecilia and waiting for her to step through it. She looked around at the arrangement of the furniture: the purple settee had been moved so they were facing one another and upon them sat many of the people she knew, or rather, didn't know her: the Potters sat on the far settee, Sam between them playing with his mother's hair; Sirius on the adjacent settee with Remus sitting on the arm. On the opposite one, Cecilia was surprised to see were the Weasleys, Arthur and Molly, who smiled politely at Cecilia before Mr Weasley shot a look at Remus Lupin.

"Come and sit down!" exclaimed Molly Weasley, getting to her feet and gesturing to her space. "I expect you're in need of a drink, yes?"

"Of course she is," replied Sirius on her behalf, grinning between Cecilia and Molly. "She's just been having a very short chat with our illustrious leader." Sirius continued to grin at Cecilia and intimated with his glance that she should sit down.

"Has Severus gone?" asked Aberforth, pacing over to Sirius. "I was hoping to speak to him."

"Back to the Ministry, I think," replied James, nodding to Sirius who had been looking blankly at Aberforth.

"He'll be back," continued James. "He's just finalising something with Mick Mullen. Something to do with the Daily Prophet; I think he's worried about bias in their reporting."

"Hm, I think he's wise," commented Arthur. "Did you read that story last month about the visions of angels over Luggenthorpe? Yorkshire?" he clarified. "They reported it to be wizard children trying to wind up muggles but it was actually a Ministry error. Old Tom."

"Heaven help us with that wizard!" exclaimed Sirius, shaking his head. "When will the Minister ever see what an incompetent old fool he is?"

"After all our hard work too," sighed Lily, smiling at Molly who had put a tray of tea and sandwiches onto the table in the centre of the settees. "Makes us wonder why we bother."

"We bother Lils, because we care," replied her husband, who instantly regretted his words as Lily gave him an "it was a rhetorical question" look.

"So, Mrs Frobisher," said Sirius, changing the subject and bringing the focus back round to Cecilia. "I heard you met my relatives today. Lucius said he had never been punched by a woman before."

"You hit Lucius Malfoy?!" Lily threw back her head, her voice tinkling with laughter. "Ooh, I would have liked to have been there when you did that!"

Cecilia said nothing but instead smiled as Remus, who had poured a cup of tea and crossed the carpet with it, sat next to her and offered it to her.

"I'm sorry to have upset you this morning," he said as she took the saucer. "Pretty strangers don't usually throw themselves at me on Sirius's doorstep. They tend to do that to him." He looked across at Sirius, who grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"When will Mr. Snape be joining us?" asked Cecilia, changing the subject and feeling her face begin to tingle with a blush, and looked back to Aberforth. "You said I would be working with him?"

"He has returned to the Ministry for the moment," replied James, pulling back Sam who had tried to scamper off the settee from between his parents. "I think he wants Tabs to be with him when he tells us about his discovery." Cecilia bit her lip before drawing the cup of milked tea towards her mouth. Here she was, sitting amongst people she knew, people who, in a different time had had different lives or no life at all and had it not been for her there would have been no Universal Link.

"And you were at the Department of Mysteries?" James continued, smiling at Cecilia. "What were you trying to do?"

"Rectify something," replied Cecilia, smiling as Sam jumped out of his father's arms again. "It was touch and go at times but I think I managed it."

"And you're going to take the job with Aberforth, and take on the non-wizard child?" Molly Weasley sat next to her husband and leaned forward as she spoke. Cecilia looked back at her before realising that all eyes in the room, including that of the Sam Potter, were on her. Her past flashed very quickly before her eyes, of Hogwarts and the potion, of teaching muggle studies and dodging around wondering what Snape was up to. She didn't need the glory of the Universal Link, she already had it around her. It was time to do what she did best which was, to be useful.

"Yes," she nodded, and then frowned, turning to look at James Potter. "How did you know that I was in the Department of Mysteries?" This time Remus smiled and Cecilia looked at him curiously.

"My big brother. He works there. Kay. He floo'd me this morning to tell me you were on your way. And on a day like today, too. I'll just be glad when it's half breeds that get the break, you know?" Before Cecilia could ask anything more though, a couple of cracks and two figures were standing before them.

"Done it?" asked Sirius, getting to his feet and crossing the floor to his ex-former adversary. Severus Snape glanced at the pale, blonde-haired woman who was next to him before grinning at Sirius a grin to rival even his.

"Just released it to the Ministry," he declared as Sirius slapped him on the back compatriotly. "The Daily Prophet will be interested as well, I dare say, as soon as news has got round." He walked back over to where Sirius was sitting and sat next to him. The woman who was with him followed him silently and perched on the arm of the settee as Remus had done earlier on the other.

"Much better than what's been in there recently," commented Arthur, smiling in Severus Snape's direction. "Honestly, I was beginning to think that the only thing worth reading was the "monkey with typewriter" cartoons."

"Very popular," nodded James agreeably.

"It'll be released to the muggle press and the Daily Prophet in due course," continued Snape, beholding the people around him. "If it hadn't been for the discovery of someone in the Department of Mysteries – " he paused and shot a severe stare at Cecilia momentarily, " – I would never have got together the energy levels."

"And the Commission has accepted it," continued the woman who had apparated with Snape, her voice soft and steady, "so Aberforth can take on as many non-wizards this year as he likes!"

"Ooh!" exclaimed Lily jumping to her feet. "'ll floo Petunia and Regulus! It was too late for Dudley, but Darren'll be eleven this summer." James put a hand on his wife's wrist and she looked at him resuming, moments later, her position next to him on the settee.

"As you've already started celebrations," continued Tabitha Penwright, smoothing down her pale, mousy hair as she stood up and looked in the direction of the kitchen. "I'll put the kettle on," she continued, "that's if you have such a thing, Sirius."

"Just for you, Tabs," replied Sirius, winking as Tabitha began to walk towards the kitchen door. The woman turned back momentarily and stuck out her tongue in Sirius's direction.

"And then Severus can tell you all about what happened next," she added, calling out just before she pushed open the door.

"Tabs, there's a new tin of teabags in the cupboard there," called Molly Weasley. "Got them in specially."

"Thoughtful as ever, Molly," said Aberforth, moving behind Cecilia's settee and pausing next to Remus. "Now Severus, are you ready to tell us all?" This time everyone in the living room waited expectantly for Snape to speak though unlike Cecilia he didn't seem to be inclined to embarrassment or nerves.

"I am," he acknowledged, sitting forward and glancing around at his audience and Cecilia noticed that he wasn't as reserved or austere as he had been…_before_. "We have just been putting the finishing touches to the Link just now although I must say, had it not been for some last-minute information gleaned in the early hours of the morning I would not have been. We think there was someone behind the veil."

"I was."

Cecilia didn't mean for the words to come out but she spoke them as they passed through her mind.

"I was behind the veil," she clarified, as the wizards around her switched their silent interest to her from Snape.

"You?" Snape looked at her, a flutter of uncertainty passing across his face. Cecilia nodded as Snape's face crumpled into uncertainty. "But how – "

"How doesn't matter," interjected Aberforth Dumbledore, pacing as Albus Dumbledore would have done from behind Cecilia's settee to the centre of the group, "nor why. I have spoken to Mrs Frobisher at length about her work with us and her prior experience in the Department of Mysteries and I am sorry to say she has few recollection of the events before she was met by Lucius Malfoy and the other aurors."

The wizards around her remained fixed: James and Lily sitting next to one another staring silently at Cecilia as they held onto their son, one hand each on his arms; Arthur Weasley pausing mid-sip of his tea as Molly leaned forward towards the teapot; Sirius leaning forward, eyebrows raised and Remus, sitting next to Cecilia as he was since offer her a cup of tea leaning back towards the arm of the settee as he stared at her too.

"One can only assume that whatever it was, it was something you intended to change, Mrs Frobisher, because I recorded energetic levels which we had never come across before. That is because no wizard has ever returned from beyond it and to you things here must be a little strange. It was because you are a non-wizard you survived and that you were behind there Mrs Frobisher means we have completed the task now using this information."

"But I don't understand," replied Cecilia, her voice becoming a little shriller as she thought about what she had been through. "I am sure there were things behind the veil, things I did change…"

"What things?" This time for the question from her left. Remus smiled a little as Cecilia turned her head towards him.

"Yes…it's funny you should say that, Mr Snape," said Cecilia, glancing at Aberforth whose face was expressionless, "some things…" she looked back to Remus, "…like, well, for example, your brother Caelius – " she paused waiting for reality to drop into place. It did and she continued, " – he died in my reality, he was killed as a young boy." She waited for the worst, for those around her to decry her statement but, to her surprise Remus smiled and leaned towards her.

"That's right!" he exclaimed, putting down his teacup and saucer, "my father told me the story, we moved when I was just an infant to my aunt's house."

"In the Lake District," finished Cecilia, but this seemed to go unnoticed as Remus's reminiscence continued.

"It wasn't until recently that the infection was cured, of course. We have Severus to thank for that," Remus added, nodding over to Snape on the opposite settee. "He refined the wolfsbane potion you know, not even out of Hedgewards and you managed that, eh, Sev?" Snape shook his head in agreement, seemingly a little abashed though, Cecilia sensed.

"I still remember you coming into our final exam, as cool as a cucumber and then telling us afterwards what you'd done," commented Lily, holding tightly to Sam's hand as he tried to pull away and run towards Cecilia. "Something to do with the alignment of planets, wasn't it?"

"Lunar eclipse," corrected Tabitha, who had reappeared from out of the kitchen as Snape had begun to discuss what they had done and she touched Snape's arm lightly. "Worked night and day, didn't you?" she added approvingly.

"Night and night," corrected Snape, turning to look at her. Then the conversation stopped and the wizards looked back to Cecilia as if waiting for her to go on. She indulged them as the large chamber that she had witnessed the destruction of muggle-wizard collaboration, in which she had made a passionate and vocal objection.

"The reciprocators," she continued, "they were outlawed, by your ancestor Joseph Black." She looked at Sirius, who laughed.

"My ancestor?! Of course he was!" Sirius slapped his thigh in mirth and the wizards there, including Aberforth, laughed with him. Sirius looked directly at Cecilia before speaking again and she wondered silently what the joke was.

"Joseph Black was one of the founding fathers of the modern world! It is his joint speech with James Watt in front of the Grand Wizengamot which is the basis for our sharing of information today." Sirius waved his arm around room, gesturing to the wizards sitting around her, "I wonder Mrs Frobisher…have you ever heard of the Lunar Society?" Cecilia found herself nodding as she looked around at the wizards again.

"Reciprocators." Sirius said the word as Cecilia thought it. "That was what Watt's little intellectual's club became, you see, the Lunar Society. It was the Lunar Society and Reciprocators for a few years but that didn't catch on and they dropped the first bit. Too many connotations, you see."

This time it was Cecilia who sat open mouthed: She had wondered why all the wizards were at Number Twelve when there was no Voldermort any more, therefore no Order of the Phoenix. As if he was reading her mind Sirius spoke.

"We are Reciprocators, Mrs Frobisher, voluntary connections with non-wizards. "Tiring work, but I have to keep up the family name and reputation." And it was at that moment that she noticed that the witch who was holding Snape's hand was, with her other, playing with something on a chain. A locket.

"Is that a family heirloom?" asked Cecilia directly, looking at the locket. Tabitha nodded.

"I am from a non-wizard family, but this has been passed down for centuries. We all just thought it was jewellery but it wasn't until recently that it was discovered to be of wizard origin."

"Wizard origin?" echoed Cecilia. "So it contains…you mean it's magical?" It was her change of course that made Tabitha laugh and shook her head.

"No, or at least, not now. If it ever was the only useful purpose it serves is to contain photographs and look, well, really pretty. It certainly doesn't contain any souls." Tabitha got to her feet and helped herself to some oatcake from the table next to the magically-induced tea, placing them onto a plate and Cecilia wondered how this witch had known the thought that she was containing just behind her cranium.

"So, you were behind the veil, Mrs Frobisher. Were there clouds there? With connections between?"

"How do you know that?" asked Cecilia, defensiveness in her voice now.

"Tabitha is a very gifted Mysteriour," replied Snape as he took an oatcake from Tabitha's proffered plate. "She has many gifts rare in a wizard but which have been vital to our understanding."

"Well, it all makes sense now," Tabitha said to Snape. "I wondered what Mick was on about as we left, Severus, don't you remember? Something about old Tom being the root of all evil?"

" 'The reports need to be in on time, not yesterday!' " mimicked James, in a thin, reedy voice. They all laughed.

"Well there is no doubt that you fit I well enough round here," continued James, as Cecilia bit her tongue. She had hoped that no-one was going to press her about Harry and what his life was like, from her point of view. If Tabitha Penwright had such special powers then she daren't even think it.

"And there's no doubt we would have not solved the Universal Link without you, Mrs Frobisher," added Snape.

Just as it should be.

The thought fed through her mind like a cassette in a player. It might even have been Cecilia's own, but it didn't matter. She had solved the Universal Link here, too. It was the right thought.

"Okay, well as you are going to be the new teacher and you've nowhere to live you might as well stop here until term starts," said Sirius decisively before turning to Snape and began a conversation with him about his research. Arthur, getting to his feet made his way towards the door through which she and Aberforth had just come with the wizard following him back through. James and Lily both got up too and Sam, who had been eyeing up Cecilia's lap for the last twenty minutes made a dash for it, only to be scuppered in his attempt by Molly Weasley with lightning reflexes as she darted from her course of collecting the tea tray to the determined boy.

"You are staying, Mrs Frobisher?" asked Remus, smiling faintly as Cecilia readjusted her centre of gravity and turned towards him Cecilia felt herself nodding as she took another sip of her tea, now cold following her involvement with the prior conversation. Remus withdrew his wand and held it over her cup. Cecilia smiled as steam began to rise steadily from it again.

"And I'm to be a mum. To a muggle child," she added.

"Ah," came a voice adjacent to them. Sirius's grin seemed to indicate he had just witnessed the exchange between them. "Aberforth told you about little Freya?" Tonks is doing a wonderful foster mother job but I just thought she needed to be someone a little less…"

"…inexperienced?" asked Remus, chuckling a little.

"…clueless," corrected Sirius. "But she did seem to be very attached to the book you gave her, Remus," he continued. "Grimelda's her favourite, so I hear."

"Mysterious Mythology," whispered Cecilia, half to herself. Remus nodded a little but continued his conversation with Sirius.

"Of course. There's nothing like Grimelda. I'm just glad it has been put to some use after my father locked it away. You know, he blamed that book on Kay's condition? I'm just so happy that its gone to a good home."

Cecilia looked away from her focus. She had not been listening to what Remus was saying but had been staring at Snape, who was in deep conversation with Tabitha, next to Sirius.

"Genius, that man," commented Sirius. "Though you wouldn't know it. Very modest about everything. Cure for lycanthropy before he was even out of school – "

" – not that you took the mick," reminded Remus.

" – no," replied Sirius, shaking his head, "well, not much. Quite simple though, using silver."

"…a silver salt compound in solution taken on a lunar eclipsed full moon, enough to aqueify the proteins in the DNA and, as the body fights it the tidal effect of the water in the body cells change, making the DNA change and alleviating the body of lycanthropy…"

There. She had said it. Those long days sitting around in the Dursleys' house waiting for either Dudley Dursley to come home and try to resist any attempt of hers to teach him or attempting to stave off desperately thoughts of her Remus. She knew both he in this reality and Sirius were staring at her but she didn't care. She had formulated this too and it had been too long sitting on a shelf in her mind: time to be aired.

"Brutal and painful, but it works," growled Snape, who had also been paying attention.

"So, you're a scientist Mrs Frobisher," said James, nodding as Sirius replaced Lily next to him.

"You're a scientist, Mrs Frobisher," imitated Sam, copying his father and making one last, but successful attempt to climb on Cecilia, jumping on her lap and grinning as only children of such an age can. His father gave her an apologetic look and lifted him off Cecilia, much to the objection of his son.

"We have talked about this, we do not do that to strangers, Sammy," he chided.

"But she's not a stranger, Daddy," he protested, "she's – "

"A scientist," prompted Sirius as James made shushing noises to his son," you know, I've always been interested in time travel, do you think science could make that happen?"

"There are limits to science," Cecilia smiled. "I'm assuming you mean travelling in time in other directions rather than just the usual way, past to future." Sirius nodded, seemingly swallowing the sarcastic rebuke that Cecilia expected.

"Reality is always changing because more than one thing at a time is changing. If you are to believe some there are alternate realities all stemming from one place and branching out."

"You don't believe that?" asked Remus, doubtfully. "The trousers of time has been a long-held hypothesis."

"Not that everything starts at one point," clarified Cecilia, brushing her hair out of her face. It had been a long day and she could feel tiredness creeping up on her as she sat there discussing her ideas. "Although science holds this, the Big Bang theory. That everything is connected to everything else." She looked at Sirius. "I am almost certain that science will be involved in it somewhere along the line. Do you envisage using this in my work with Mr. Snape?"

"Who knows?" shrugged Sirius. "Now he's solved the Universal Link I can't see there's much more for him to investigate."

"That can't be right," replied James, shaking his head at his friend. "Otherwise why would Aberforth have recommended Mrs Frobisher?"

Cecilia spent the next hour listening to how Severus Snape and Tabitha Penwright had formulated the Link. It wasn't how she would have done it or rather, how she had done it. They hadn't looked at Mysterious Mythology but they had information gleaned from Reciprocators in their respective scientific fields. Good old Aberforth Dumbledore, thought Cecilia as the tale unfolded around her. To insist on its investigation by a muggle scientist, as his brother had done before, that was one good thing. Another was that she was going to be mum to Freya, her darling friend's daughter and live at Hedgewards. And a third was that she would be there to –

" – teach science! That's what you're doing, at Hedgwards, is it?" Cecilia realised that Sirius was staring at her. He was now standing up next to James, who was in the middle of catching hold of his son, Sirius beaming around at them and nodding. Cecilia looked at him blankly; she had been lost in her own thoughts as she tried to incorporate all that was here into her mind – it was going to be difficult not sticking her foot in it with those around her who, to an extent, she knew so well.

"Well, you joining us, doing whatever you did behind the veil, Severus's Link, Aberforth's school admission…this calls for a celebration…a party!"

A groan from beside her caused Cecilia to look at Remus and she saw him roll his eyes towards James. Well, she was just going to have to get on with it, and get used to the now.

"Mick and Minerva should be here soon," said Tabitha, nodding towards the fireplace. "I can go and help Molly and Arthur prepare. Can't see a problem…?" she looked at James and Remus, who had baulked at the idea of a party. Both of them shook their heads innocently, which made Sirius beam.

"Then a party it is," declared Sirius, grinning at Cecilia and sitting next to Remus on the arm of their settee. "My parties are famous, Mrs Frobisher – "

" – infamous," muttered Remus, shaking his head.

" – do you know, Remus here was once sick for three days at Hedgewards after one of my parties…?"

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"And everything you've told me's accurate, Caleius?" Aberforth looked over his half-moon spectacles, which would have reminded those who knew Albus Dumbledore of this wizard, had they been present. It was late evening and the party had been going for about an hour. Caelius Lupin had come from the Ministry only after a long and intense discussion with Aberforth about the survivor from behind the veil. Caelius nodded slowly. He didn't want to be there, not really. He much preferred the pleasure of his own company and felt awkward in social situations, probably accounted for by his prior affliction as a werewolf. Despite Severus Snape's perfected lycanthropy cures old habits died hard.

"Absolutely, Aberforth. The Ministry, and when I say Ministry, I mean the Aurors who are bound to report these things, they believe that Cecilia Frobisher's appearance was part of Severus's experiment. Even Lucius Malfoy's been embarrassed enough by her attack on him not to speak of it. I think it'll just die away, especially when people find out about the Universal Link.

"Excellent. You've worked really hard on this, Caelius." Aberforth padded his way over to the door of his study and pushed down on the handle. Instead of moving however, Caelius Lupin remained where he was, staring towards the fire.

"Caelius…Kay…" Aberforth stroked his fine, wispy beard as he tried to get the wizard's attention.

"Hm…what?" Caelius looked sharply at Aberforth and shook his head.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Caelius shook his head again, but held his look at Aberforth.

"It's just…nothing really. Nothing to do with the situation at any rate. Cecilia…Mrs Frobisher reminds me of someone." He sat down in the chair he had occupied earlier that evening, the one in which Cecilia had also resided that morning. Aberforth crossed the carpeted study and sat back down too, waiting for the elder Lupin brother to get whatever was worrying him off his mind. At length, Caelius spoke.

"I remember a time, when I was reading my father's book, the one that Remus gave to that muggle girl. I shouldn't have had it, but I used to like reading Grimelda on my own." Caelius moved in his chair, and continued to stare towards the fireplace. "I liked the storm, you see. In Grimelda, she walked through a storm and it set the scene very well. But…that night…"

"…Fenrir Greyback…" said Aberforth quietly. Caelius looked from the fireplace to Aberforth and nodded.

"Fenrir Greyback," he confirmed. "He bit me, as you know. But…for some reason, when I first met Cecilia Frobisher I was taken back to that day when he fell out of my window. Greyback fell out…tumbled out." Caelius shook his head and got to his feet. "It was just strange…when I met her it was as if she was…there…"

He let Aberforth Dumbledore open the door before passing through it this time and opened the door into the living room as Aberforth swished his wand, making the study fold into itself before slipping the little black square into his robe.

Music was being played from a phonograph near the kitchen and the living room had been transformed into a dance floor, much as it had been in another time and place for a Christmas party, with the purple settees and tables around the outside. Unlike Christmas summer flowers were hanging in sprays around the room and in vases and the late evening sunshine was even now warming the room.

Many Reciprocators were there, looking a little out of place in such an atmosphere of frivolity and gaiety and Caelius began to feel a little sorry for them, empathising with their plight. He noticed the Grimmauld Place Reciprocators, Sirius and James, Lily, Tabitha and Snape, and Remus. All of them were engaged in an animated discussion about something, making Lily and Tabitha laugh shrilly and the wizards roar in mirth. His brother's friends were also in a state of mild intoxication and he wondered whether Sirius's cousin really did mind babysitting Sam Potter as well as Freya Mitchell in Caelius's grandmother's cottage in the Lake District.

Caelius was about to approach his brother and offer to get him a drink when Remus got to his feet suddenly. Caelius found himself following his brother who himself seemed to be following someone else, through into the kitchen.

He watched Remus through the kitchen door, which was unusually absent of people milling around collecting and fetching, as he looked at her, Cecilia Frobisher, who was leaning on the balcony railing and staring out into the dulling view of Number Twelve's garden. Then he watched his brother open the outer door to the balcony, closing it gently behind him.

"Will she be all right?" Caelius turned slowly to Aberforth who had appeared silently by his side before glancing back at Remus, who now had his arm around her shoulders, the thin dress she had chosen to wear for the occasion doing nothing for her against the cool evening breeze.

"We offered her something familiar, the child to look after. And I have offered her a position at Hedgewards."

"Do you think that's wise? She'll have residual memory of her old life and what she did behind the veil." Caelius looked out at his brother as he pulled Mrs Frobisher closer to him, leaning over her. He wasn't surprised when Remus kissed her, slowly and tenderly nor when Cecilia Frobisher didn't resist.

"We're going to need someone like her, lets face it she's going to need a purpose, and now what with our admitting of non-wizards and what my brother is doing and all that business in the Black Forest…"

"…Grindelwald?" asked Caelius, wondering how interesting Remus's life would now his brother had chosen to follow his instinct. Aberforth nodded slowly.

"…we're going to need her!"

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A/N: The trousers of time is a philosophy spoken about in the Discworld novels of Terry Pratchett. If you've not come across them your life has been impoverished up to now.


	29. Epilogue

DISCLAIMER: ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND SCENARIOS BELONG TO JKR AND/OR WARNER BROS.

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"Those stories...so strange, Cecilia."

"I told you she had a twisted mind, eh Lils?" Sirius Black nudged Lily Potter as they watched a line of people shuffle slowly along, those nearer to the bookshop a little more fidgety than those at the back."

"Yes they are, Sirius. Clearly Aberforth hasn't been working me hard enough!"

Sirius Black was about to make a cutting remark, but whatever he had been about to say was lost to a shriek from a small, red-headed girl, chasing after a slightly taller red-headed boy.

"Mum! Ron's got my book!" The girl skidded as the boy doubled back, holding the coveted book out towards her then snatching it back as she reached for it.

"Leave her alone, dear," sighed Molly as the girl snatched something from out of her brother's pocket. "And Ginny, give your brother back his eyepod." Reluctantly Ginny Weasley handed back a small silver box which winked curiously as it was thrust back into the waiting palm of Ron. She held out a demanding hand and the gesture was returned, a thick novel slapped back onto her palm. Ginny stuck out her tongue as Ron turned away from her and grinned at his best friend.

"Look," he said, nudging his friend and pointing to a family halfway along the queue of people and looking at his mother, "isn't that Harry's cousin…? Look Harry, your cousin!" He nudged his friend again and Harry Potter nodded to Ron.

"'right Dud?" said Harry as Dudley Dursley was pushed in his direction by his mother in an attempt at polite conversation between the two. "You waiting for a book?"

"'course I am, seeing as it's named after you. I've become a real celebrity at school."

"How wonderful," said Petunia Dursley, nodding at her sister. "Your Harry, in a book." Ginny nudged Ron this time and whispered something to him, to which Ron whipped round and shushed her loudly.

"Hello, who are all these?" The man beamed about the children who were standing with Ron and his family, nodding to Lily and James politely, "I don't think I've had the pleasure. Vernon Dursley," said Vernon Dursley, holding out a hand. No-one took it for a moment and a frown crossed the man's face before Molly Weasley took it. Seconds later she wished she hadn't as her hand was compressed in Mr. Dursley's tight grip.

"A pleasure, a pleasure. Now, which of you is the author, eh?" He looked around at the adults there. Cecilia held Remus's hand tightly as Lily Potter looked at her and smiled.

"Marvellous!" exclaimed Vernon Dursley. "Anything to get these children out from behind a computer screen, what?" Cecilia nodded and Mr. Dursley snorted in approval before making his way back to his position in line.

It had been over year since Cecilia had been dropped off in Grimmauld Place by Percy Weasley, powerless to do anything but go forward; unable to go back to her old one. Since then she had pieced together a life from what she had found, with Freya and with Remus Lupin. But the memories of her old life had not left her: she had changed everything by going behind the veil, by trying to stop something happening (which she, arguably, had succeeded at) she had also changed other things too. And it had been her, Cecilia, who had changed it, Aberforth had reminded her when she had made her way to his office late one evening when the pressures of teaching had become too much and she had been spouting apparent nonsense about a Dark Lord and Death Eaters. The memories still came back to her from time to time, she had told him and he had encouraged her to write down everything she could remember. On the whole, it had been cathartic and she had shown Remus once she had finished. It was only then that she had had the idea to form it into a story.

"No-one would guess Dudley wasn't his," Cecilia heard Lily whisper to Molly Weasley and she looked past Harry and Ron and back to the Dursleys in line. "Vernon Dursley has brought him up as his own," Lily added. Molly's lips thinned; clearly bringing anyone up as Mr. Dursley's own meant inheriting the stature as well as the nurture.

"How's Sirius been?" asked Molly, frowning a little towards Lily. Cecilia swallowed and pretended she was focusing on the people in line who were shuffling quietly forward trying to control buggies, young children and, in one case, elderly parents. "It's been nearly fifteen years since Regulus's death."

"He's not said much about it," whispered Lily back. Then she caught Cecilia's eye and smiled. Molly Weasley turned and smiled too.

"What are you going to call the baby, Mrs Lupin, when it's born?" asked Molly, blocking the view of the Dursleys as she spoke.

"Cecilia, please, Mrs Weasley…we know yet," she added, squeezing Remus's arm tightly, "we're going to wait and see."

"It was all very sudden I must say, but…once you know, you know, like with my Arthur." She gestured to Mr Weasley, who had been trying to fathom the mysteries of Cecilia's mobile phone for the last three-quarters of an hour. "And why Northumberland? Because that's where you set your school in the book now, wasn't it…Hogwarts, wasn't it called?"

Before Cecilia could answer she heard a warning cry of "watch out" and, to her left, came hurtling a rolled up comic which landed just in front of Mrs Weasley. She spun round furiously as her twin sons stood there, frozen in momentary horror.

"Sorry, Mrs Lupin," called Fred, in a desperate attempt to assuage his mother's wrath. "We just wanted to show you…show everyone…here – " Another rolled up comic came flying through the air courtesy of George and this time Cecilia caught it.

"Hey lads, excellent," she commented, nodding approvingly at each of the pages. The twins grinned at one another and Mrs Weasley's glower turned to nothing as her sons walked past her and stood next to Cecilia.

"Really?" asked Fred, nudging his brother.

"Absolutely," nodded Cecilia, holding the comic that the twins had been working on that year out for one of them to take it.

"You keep it, Mrs Frobisher. Think of it as a gift, a promo copy."

"I spoke to Frank Dabbler about this," continued Cecilia smiling knowingly.

"Your publisher," continued George.

"He said that if I approved of it he might do a short print run to see how it goes." The twins looked at one another, beaming, before returning to where Ron, Harry and Ginny were standing. Moments later there were howls of hysteria as they too read through promotional copies of "Weasleys' Wizarding Woes and Whimsies". Cecilia looked past them and back to the queue. It didn't seem to be getting any shorter, in fact, as many people seemed to be joining as leaving with their brown paper packages.

"And people queuing all night to buy them." Remus shook his head to Cecilia when she caught his eye. "But why give them away?"

"We have the money, Remus. I think people ought to have a chance to read what I've written." I owe both worlds that chance.

"It'll never will catch on though. You're probably better off sticking to the day job, Ce..."

"You missed out on a fantastic opportunity to sell it." A voice behind them made both Mr. and Mrs. Lupin turn. Behind them stood Kay, who smiled at them momentarily. "And personally, I would have gone with a heroine rather than a hero. Harriet Potter. Or something like that."

"And what of these fanciful notions?" A voice which still made Cecilia's bones chill rippled past them. "Blood prejudice indeed...wherever did these thoughts come from, Mrs Lupin? No-one would never have believed that could actually happen, eh Cissy?" A thin woman who Cecilia had met a few times since arriving back and who she recognised from the picture in Draco Malfoy's room attempted a smile. Next to her a witch she did know grinned in a way akin to mania but Cecilia had begun to realise that was just how Bellatrix Black looked.

"Nor me Lucius," replied Bellatrix, "morning, Cissy."

"That we all co-exist, now that is something," added Lucius. "An excellent idea which the Wizengamot could not argue with once Mr. Snape and Miss Penwright had come up with the evidence. Why no-one had thought of comprehensive educational establishments before Miss Penwright, I do not know. You have to give non-wizards the opportunity, that's equality." He beamed around the group as he spoke, nodding slightly to Cecilia.

"Not like bad old days when we were at Hedgewards eh, Cissy?" Bellatrix put her hand on her hip, posing with natural elegance and grace.

"Quite right, Bella. Draco is getting on exceptionally well at Smeltings School." She looked at Harry, who had, with the other young wizards and Freya, rejoined the adults. "I believe your cousin…your nephew," she looked at Lily Potter, "attends that school."

"Does he?" asked Lily. "To be honest, my sister and I don't keep in touch as often as I'd like."

"Isn't this system absolutely marvellous, then?" commented Bellatrix. "That Draco wants to be a minister in the non-wizard government, and he is committed enough to go to a non-wizard school. Had it not been for Joseph Black," she added dramatically.

"Oh there were times," replied Sirius, "our ancestor was close to giving up…probably would have gone right off his head because of – " he broke off, thinking deeply, " – power…Scottish man...what was his name...?"

"Yes, cousin Sirius, Watt." A tall blonde boy who Cecilia had noticed had been speaking to Dudley Dursley was standing next to his parents. Draco Malfoy was nearly as tall as his father and, she noticed, had inherited many of his mother's looks."

"But it all got sorted out in the end," finished Sirius, smiling at his relatives.

"Yes," nodded Lucius, "but I dare say, I can see how things could have gone the other way." He looked at Cecilia. "Yours, I believe?"

"Freya!" exclaimed Cecilia as Lucius swung his left arm forward. Attached to it at the wrist was her god-daughter who grabbed onto his legs. She was much younger than the Freya who she had left behind in her Old Life, being only seven years old here. But Freya she was, both physically and in mischievous personality. When saw Cecilia's disapproving look she let go of Lucius and stood in front of her.

"Sorry, Aunty Celia," she said. Cecilia smiled and she looked at where Sam and his father were playing at the other side of the group and Freya took this as her cue to go over to play.

"What shall we call him?" asked Remus when the newcomers had joined the rest of the Reciprocators.

"Her, Remus," corrected Cecilia. "Elizabeth."

"That was mummy's name," said Freya, who had dashed over to Cecilia and grabbed her hand. Cecilia nodded.

"We have to think about the possibility it could be a boy," said Remus, looking lovingly at his wife.

"Romulus?" Remus laughed and picked up Cecilia's hand, which was still encased in his, kissing the back of it. He shook his head.

"No. Surely not! What do you think you'll give birth to love, a wolf?" Cecilia looked at him sharply before replying.

"I was just thinking of the Roman theme, Remus, Romulus, Caelius…" She waited for Remus to reply. When he didn't she added, "well what then?"

"_When_ it is a boy," he said, "I think…Timothy...Timothy Lupin...you remember, after that mountaineer who had your surname." Cecilia said nothing. Timothy Lupin. It did suit better than Romulus.

"Harry's dead chuffed about the books, Aunty Celia." Freya interrupted her train of thought and she looked down at her young charge.

"I know, Freya sweetheart."

"When I grow up, I'm going to marry him." Freya broke off from Cecilia and bounded her way back to Sam and James Lupin. Her foster parents echanged looks.

"If you don't like it, love," he began but Cecilia shook her head. "Tim..." She kissed her husband on the forehead. "Perfect." A perfect name for a perfect life. Timothy Frobisher would live on.

"Cecilia." Lucius Malfoy was walking back over to them. "I was just wondering, did you ever read a book called "The Authorised Auld Magic?" Cecilia shook her head, the words emblazoned in her mind, however, since her foray behind the veil. "I just wondered. You seem to have a fascination for the tiny details about wizard life. About Tom Riddle and Auld Magic, and about his family history and so on?" Cecilia shook her head again.

"My wife spending so much time at Hedgewards, I think her fertile imagination came to the fore." Remus smiled at Lucius.

"But I'm glad you enjoyed it," Cecilia continued graciously. But Lucius didn't move away.

"It's just a pity the old bugger died before he could read any of this. It's not every day you find you're the baddie in a children's story book."

"I think it's just a coincidence," replied Cecilia. "Because the story is a riddle and Tom is a common boy's name."

"And to think, if things had gone another way he would still be headmaster of Hedgewards rather than Dumbledore, like his mother and father before him. All in the name of progress, or so I'm told." Lucius Malfoy shook his head, an air of sadness in his voice. "But a truly inclusive education system now."

"But it might not have happened." Draco had joined his father, and too, had Dudley and his parents. "That the 1956 uprising as quashed by a vote, by one Albus Dumbledore, meant the Reciprocators were allowed to remain when there was so much against them," he said knowledgeably. The goblin riots, thought Cecilia, glancing down to the left at Gringotts Bank.

"Why is that important?" asked Dudley curiously.

"If we got rid of Reciprocators then, well, someone like Tom Riddle as you have written him, Mrs Lupin, might well have arisen. All it would have taken would have been one man. The Reciprocators have also kept the peace."

"Thank you for the history lesson, son," replied Vernon, beaming proudly at Dudley's friend.

"Thank you for coming," replied Draco. "It's not often I get to show my culture to my friends."

"I think they're scared, Daz," whispered Dudley.

"Well, we wouldn't have missed this, would we Vernon? Not our nephew becoming famous…!" She waved at Harry, who grinned brightly.

"Even if what you say is true Draco," replied his father, "I can't see one person making such an impact, really. I mean, who would have listened to him? Now, Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, and all that trouble near the Swiss border…"

"All these people," mused Cecilia quietly. "To read my book."

"It's because its free, my dear," said Sirius peering around Remus's shoulder, "but they'll need a big strong trolley to take it away, it must be 10 inches thick. And, why don't you say who you are? CJL is never going to be a memorable name for an author." Cecilia sighed and put on her best, "talking to Sirius," frame of mind.

"I was never liked publicity. I hate the limelight." You know that. Or rather, you knew that.

"And are you, soon-to-be-Dad, happy to stay at home when the baby's born?" Remus nodded and smiled before Cecilia could interject.

"He is, thank you very much," replied Cecilia. "And I'm opting for the quiet life."

"Hedgewards? Quiet?" asked Sirius doubtfully. "Good luck."

The queue seemed to have died down now, just a small queue of people drizzling through the doors to collect their free books.

"I don't care what Uncle Sirius says, I know its good, Aunty," said Freya, gazing up at Cecilia. "It's a dead good story, people'll never believe how good it is."

"But the title sort of lets it down," said Sirius, lifting Freya onto his shoulders. The girl gripped on tightly to his hair and leaned down towards Cecilia a little.

"Yes aunty, why did you give it such a strange title?"

"Harry Potter and the Story that Never Was."

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A/N: That's all, folks!


End file.
